Everything You've Done Wrong
by sloanne
Summary: Racetrack's father is in the mafia, and it colors his whole life. Slash, drugs and rock'n'roll. [Cowritten by Funkiechick and studentnumber24601. COMPLETE!]
1. The Apple and The Tree

NOTE: "Sloanne" is not a person, but rather a collaboration made up of Funkiechick and B (StudentNumber24601.) Mind the falling Sloan references; they're everywhere in this story. That said, enjoy!

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

A welcome to my friends

This house is a home

And a home's where I belong

Where the feelings are warm

And the foundation is strong

If my soul has a shape

Well, then it is an ellipse

And this slap is a gift

Because your cheeks have lost their luster

-Pavement, _Blue Hawaiian_

****

One: The Apple and the Tree

Racetrack wondered for a moment who was playing drums right next to his head. Then, groggily, he realized that the banging was _inside_ his head, he was incredibly thirsty, and very, very hung over. He also realized he wasn't in bed, he was lying on someone's couch. Groaning at the effort, he sat up and tried to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there. The previous night was little more than a blur.

"Freaking... sun..." Race squinted against the light pouring in through the window, and he peered about, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. If he'd been coherent--which he wasn't--it wouldn't have taken him five minutes to remember that it was Mush's living room. Only Mush had Broadway posters on the wall.

Mush's living room. Right. Mush and David had dragged him to a party because of... David's sister's boyfriend? It was too early in the morning for details, but it had been something like that. With the public school kids David was friends with. And since he hadn't known anyone, he'd decided it would be a great excuse to drink. Which apparently, he'd done extensively, judging by the size of his headache.

Slowly, and with a great deal of groaning involved, Race rolled off of the couch. In any other situation, Race would have gladly stayed in any sleeping arrangement for as long as possible. But he was in someone else's house, he couldn't take up their living room much longer... and he really had to piss.

Still too groggy for his liking, he lurched to his feet and groped his way in the direction of the bathroom, assuming he remembered the layout of Mush's house right. But he couldn't count on that; he didn't remember much more than his own name at the moment. He stumbled into the next room, the kitchen, and saw that a disgustingly cheerful Mush and David were sitting at the table, eating pancakes, chewing loudly enough that he was certain people a continent away could hear them.

"Mornin' Tony!" Mush beamed from his seat, and taking a long swig of water ("No Juice!" Mush had proclaimed a week earlier. "I have to watch it, you know.") David nodded his greeting; like Race he still remotely understood the insanity that waking up the morning after a party actually _was_.

Race groaned an incoherent response, and Mush continued, oblivious to the fact that every word he said brought Race's head a step closer to exploding. "Haven't seen you do that to yourself in a few years, huh?" he commented, and under any other circumstance that would have earned a death glare from Race, but Race was too busy being hung over to notice anything else.

"You want an aspirin or something?" David asked, finishing off his pancakes. Race didn't respond, and David took this as an indication that perhaps he hadn't been heard. "Tony? Tony, do you want an aspirin?...god, you look awful." That did earn a response, but not exactly of the friendliest sort. Race had a tendency to flip people off when he was mad.

David rolled his eyes, but was nice enough to get up and find an aspirin and get Race a glass of water. "At least you didn't have to be hospitalized this time," he commented, once Race had choked down the aspirin and was practically inhaling the water. God, water felt good.

He paused long enough to snap, "Shut up," and finished draining the glass.

David, having the mouth that he did, looked ready to keep pushing the subject. But Mush shook his head, and no one liked to go against what Mush said when his eyes had that pleading expression. So David merely gave Race a hearty pat on the back, and started to wash his dish, which was coated in syrup, in the kitchen sink.

Race finished his water, set the glass down on the table, and started to ask where the bathroom was. He didn't have to, though; Mush pointed down the hall. "Last room on the left, Sunshine. Take a shower. You smell like booze."

"An' you look like a girl in that shirt," Race grumbled, giving a sneer to the light blue polo shirt that Mush considered a personal favorite. Normally, Race would hold back the insult, but his head hurt and Mush's didn't--so he deserved it. In Race's logic anyway. He slumped/walked out of the kitchen, mumbling something about 'idiots not minding their own business.'

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he stepped into the bathroom, and David was right. He looked awful. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled clothing, hair which actually seemed to be defying gravity, it was so snarled. He wondered what he'd done the night before as he relieved himself, then went to wash his hands. He frowned. Someone's number was written in marker on the back of his left hand, but by the time he noticed, the digits had smeared out of recognition. _Where'd that come from?_ he wondered as he peeled off his disgusting clothing.

It took him a few moments to get the water running, as his perception was always off when he was hung over. Finally, he got the temperature to an almost boiling number, and pulled aside the shower curtain as he stepped in, letting the water run down his back. He loved hot water. Groggily, he reached for the soap, and tried almost entirely in vain to remember the night before, and where the hell the phone number had come from. Or who... Or more importantly, what she looked like.

He remembered getting to the party, at someone he'd never met before's house. The people there were all people David knew, but he and Mush had never met them, and Race felt distinctly out of place. They were the sort of people who made his mother clutch her wallet when they walked by, who his father sneered down his nose at. And they thought he was out of place too; he remembered someone had asked David why he'd bothered to bring some snotty rich kid with him... And then Mush had disappeared somehow, and David was off with friends and he'd been sitting there with nothing to do and no one to talk to and a bottle of beer... Well, at least he was fairly sure he'd started out with beer.

He'd probably gotten as drunk as he had because he was so bored, but obviously he couldn't have been _that_ bored if he'd gotten a phone number out of it. He racked his brain, trying to picture a face, _any _face that would stir up a memory. But at the moment, all that was coming to mind was a bunch of 'hooligans' who called him a rich fucker when they didn't think he could hear them. Really, Race hadn't wanted to be there. The things he did for David...

Well, if it hadn't been for David, he'd never have passed chemistry, and he'd been able to get totally smashed out of the deal, so he supposed he couldn't be too mad. He wiped some of the water off his face, helped himself to a large dollop of shampoo, and went to work on cleaning his hair and remembering how he'd gotten the phone number. He had vague memories of becoming a bit more social as he became tipsy; arguing with someone at the top of his lungs about classic rock drummers. Or something like that. The memory wasn't very clear. He let the shampoo sit for a minute and just felt the water pouring against him, almost scalding him, and slowly he remembered her.

She had nice lips, he remembered that much. Big, red, full... and her hair'd been short. Which surprised Race because he'd always gone for the long locks type. An image started to form in his brain, but he wasn't sure if it was his wishful imagination or an actual memory. Eyes... yeah, she'd had nice eyes, hadn't she? Oh well. At least he'd gotten a good use out of her. At least, he thought he did.

He supposed it didn't matter; it wasn't as though he was likely to see her again. It wasn't as though David's friends would be any more interested in inviting him back than he'd be in going. He rinsed the suds from his hair and discovered his headache had abetted enough that he realized he was hungry, still thirsty, and that he was likely to be killed immediately upon his return home.

With that in mind, Race decided he would much rather stay here and have breakfast, because he was going to get screamed at anyway. Besides, his mother never made pancakes. Not that he was complaining about his mother's cooking, but sometimes good old fashioned, non-Italian cuisine could be a nice change of pace, though Race would never ever freely admit this. He let the water run down his body for a while longer before turning off the tap, and fumbling quickly for a towel; he had soap in his eyes.

His clothes were just as disgusting as they'd been before, and he hated having to put them back on, but didn't have much of a choice. They made his skin crawl. And he hadn't been able to brush his teeth, and had no hair gel... But he was clean, so he supposed that was good enough. After hanging the towel back where he'd found it, he wandered back to the kitchen, feeling vaguely refreshed. Though if Mush called him Sunshine again, he'd probably respond violently. The headache hadn't gone away totally, after all.

"Feel better?" Mush asked, and David wordlessly handed Race a plate with three neatly stacked pancakes. Race shrugged, and sat down. He snatched the syrup away from Mush's side of the table and started to lazily make patterns on his food. Maria always laughed when he did that. On her birthday once, he'd made a huge star pattern on her dinner plate, made up of linguini and home-made tomato sauce. He had a real talent for food art.

"Did I do anything stupid last night?" Race asked.

"Probably. I was too busy to notice." Mush grinned.

"I told you you'd like Blink," David noted. "But you did disappear for awhile, Tony. No idea what you did."

"Hmmm." Race thought about that as he ate his pancakes. At least if he'd humiliated himself, no one he'd be seeing again knew about it. That was worth something.

He heard David let out a snicker, and he glanced behind him with an annoyed expression as David poured himself coffee. "What?" He asked, irritated.

"That." David pointed to Race's neck. "Three hickeys. You look like a leper."

Race's eyes widened slightly, and he searched the kitchen for a mirror. "How big are they?"

"Coin sized," Mush replied. Race swore.

"I told you you'd like my friends," David added, and Race flipped him off again.

"Oh, and someone tried to call you a few times while you were in the shower," Mush told him, and gestured to where Race's cell phone sat on the table.

Race swore again, picked it up, and checked his messages. All from home. He listened to part of the first one, his father yelling in Italian, then deleted it and the next four. They'd be the same anyway.

"He's in an enchanting mood," Race muttered, turning off the cell phone. "As always. Look, I gotta go." He didn't want to. In fact, he would much rather have stayed in Mush's house for the rest of his life. But getting away from his father was like trying to breath under water--it couldn't be done. "Thanks for the couch."

"Anytime," Mush said, and added, "Good luck."

"Yeah," Race acknowledged, thinking but not saying aloud, _I need it._ The drive home from Mush's was short; far shorter than he'd like, given how much he didn't want to get home.

When he neared his neighborhood, he suddenly wished he'd gotten in a car crash on the way there--that would have delayed his return. But then his dad would go on about how much Race's car had cost, and he'd be worse off than he was now. So he pulled into the garage, trying to think up excuses for being late in his head. That was useless. His dad didn't care about excuses. Rules were rules in the Valentinos's (_No_, he told himself, _the Higgins's_) household.

Nothing came to mind, unfortunately. He blamed the damned headache. _Which is my own fault, which I'm sure he'll remind me of in a tone of voice that certainly won't help any, _he thought miserably, and wondered how long it would take for his father to find him if he just kept driving. But he knew it wouldn't be long enough; he'd be found within an hour, probably. His father worked fast and had resources he didn't like to think about. So, with no other alternative and no brilliant plan, he pulled into the driveway, parked the car, and stepped out to see the disapproving figure of his father already waiting in the doorway.

Race let out a long sigh, and walked up the expensive, elaborate, and quite ridiculous steps to their equally expensive, elaborate and ridiculous porch. His father stood in front of the doorway, staring down at Race with a scowl. Race's height (or lack there of) had not been inherited from his father's side of the family.

"Racetrack."

"Don't call me that."

His father ignored that, which was probably for the best. "Inside. Now."

"Where did you think I was going?" he muttered before he could stop himself, the headache apparently affecting the part of his brain that told him to keep his smart remarks to himself. But either he was lucky or his father was saving the explosion of his temper for when they were inside, because his father just pushed the door open, followed him in, and slammed it shut again.

The slam echoed through the house, and Race winced. Not only did it set off all sorts of pain in his skull, but it also indicated this was the explosion of temper he'd been expecting.

His father turned on him, and Race could practically see the smoke blowing out of his ears. _Hothead,_ Race thought, and didn't have to worry about laughing. These days, whenever he insulted his father in his head, he didn't do it to lighten the mood. Just to make sure the insults went _somewhere_.

"Where the HELL have you been?" his father growled. He managed to make his voice about a million volumes loud without shouting at all. Race winced slightly. "Oh, Racetrack, am I too LOUD?!"

"Jesus!" Race stepped back again. His head was killing him now.

"And I'll thank you not to take the Lord's name in vain, _young man."_

"Look--" Race started, knowing it was useless but unable to stand there and be yelled at without at least attempting to defend himself.

"You're--"

"Just a _little_ hungover," Race interrupted.

"A little." His father raised an eyebrow and repeated in a voice that probably violated maximum decibel regulations in their neighborhood, "A LITTLE."

Race attempted to ignore the fact that his father was now actually trying to cause him pain and to stand up straight.

"And what _else_ were you doing last night?" his father continued.

"Look _sir_, I had a bit to _drink_. That's _it_. Why would I lie when I-"

"How can I trust your words when you used to come home with your fucking pupils dilated, ranting about seeing things and acting like a junkie?" His father's face was close to his now. He smelled exactly like the cologne his mother bought for both of them. Race never wore it.

"I came home that way _once,"_ Race mumbled. But he knew the winner of the argument wasn't him. It never was.

"I suppose that's true. Of course, there was also the time I brought you home from the hospital–"

"I made a mistake--"

"Many mistakes."

"But I don't _do_ that anymore!"

"Well, perhaps you've heard the old expression, 'a leopard never changes his spots'?"

"Well, I've heard 'the apple never falls far from the tree.'"

Race knew he shouldn't have said it. Somehow his temper always got the best of him and ended up kicking him in the ass.

"What was that?"

"Nothin'..." Race mumbled, trying to work his way past his father. No go.

"No, Racetrack, I'm interested. WHAT was that?"

"Nothing, sir!" Race answered, very nearly coming to attention as he said it, hoping that a sudden show of respect--even if it was fake--would get him back out of trouble somehow.

"'The apple never falls far from the tree,'" his father quoted, and Racetrack winced. "Then _why_ are you fighting me at every turn?"

"I'm not. Sir. I just..."

"Just _what?"_ his father demanded.

"I just don't want to do what you do. Sir."

"'What I do'" His father considered the words, his voice eerily calm. Race knew this routine. Calm before the storm, as it were. And more than anything he really wished he was back at Mush's house, sleeping on that couch. "What I _do_, boy, keeps this fucking roof over your head! If the family business is too good for you--"

"No, sir, it's... it's fine. Sir," Race babbled, feeling his face heat up.

"You're damn right it's fine. It's a family business, and you've been a part of it since you were born--you will _not_ turn your back on it, or me, or this family. Do you understand?"

"I--"

"Do you _understand?"_ his father repeated, and took a menacing step forward. Race responded without thinking, trying to back up, but after just one step he felt the wall at his back, blocking any sort of retreat. Just as well; it meant his father couldn't shove him into the wall, as had happened before.

Their faces were close, and Race couldn't go anywhere until he agreed, submitted to his father, resigned himself to losing the argument--again. Still, a part of him hesitated, wishing that he could come up with something, anything at all, that could make his father choke on his words.

But, as always, there was nothing.

"I understand." Race muttered. His father did not move. "Sir."

His father backed away from Race, and took hold of his wrist. "Good, _budiùlo_. Come on then."

Race nodded, he knew he should have expected this.

"I think, given the circumstances, it makes sense to move your... test... to today."

"Yeah," Race mumbled. It had been two years almost exactly, and his parents still didn't trust him, and probably never would. It just didn't make sense to him, how his father was so desperate to get him involved in the family business, but so convinced he was a fuckup. Why did he want someone so messed up so badly?

Race followed his father up the steps, not saying a thing, and not even greeting his sister, Sophia, who he passed on the way up the stairs. She watched him wordlessly, as they walked out of her sight. This washroom (one of four) was his mother's favorite. It had taken her three days to decorate, and Race found it interesting that they chose this particular bathroom for Race to take his tests in. His father opened the cupboard, and then thrust a tiny cup at Race, before leaving the room without a word.

He hated this; it was humiliating. He was clean... Well, aside from the alcohol, but his family didn't really care if he drank. But anything else and he'd probably be disowned. Though sometimes he wondered if that would be such a bad thing... Well, at least he'd had enough to drink at Mush's that he could fill the cup without a problem. He did so, washed his hands, and walked back into the hallway, and handed the cup to his father. He knew he should just walk away, go change out of his disgusting clothes, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. "You can believe me when I say I'm clean," he muttered, and walked away.

For whatever reason, God decided to give Race a break, and his father did not follow him as Race went up another flight of stairs, and tried to storm into his room. Another reason his life sucked--it was impossible to be dramatic and storm into your room when it was two flights of stairs up from the main floor. None the less, Race let out a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar drumming posters on the wall, and his beloved drum set in the corner. He had a very _large_ room...

Impeccably neat, of course, his mother would accept nothing less. But he'd finally won the argument to let him decorate it as he chose, and so at least this small part of the house felt like home. The only place in the whole house that did. He kicked off the dirty clothes and for a moment reveled in letting them sit on the floor, then sighed, dumped them into his hamper and found a clean set.

Subconsciously, he found himself thinking about the party again as he pulled on a Sloan T-shirt his parents hated. He glanced in the mirror, and touched the hickeys on his neck. He was surprised his father hadn't noticed; but if he had, he was always kind of proud of his son with matters like that. Or as close to proud as he could get.

He considered. So he'd been at a party and hated the people. Minus, say, five points there. But he'd gotten three hickeys and a phone number off someone he remembered as hot, so he'd give that plus five. And he'd gotten drunk for free, which was plus another three. But then he had a hangover, which was at least minus five. But the pancakes were good, so plus two, leaving him at zero. But then his father... minus several million there. He groaned and collapsed on his bed, figuring he could just stare at the ceiling until his head stopped hurting.

*

Note the first: Italian!Racetrack and Bluepoloshirt!Mush brought to you by the letter M. As in, mm mm good.

Note the second: Shower Time Race Action Figure soon to be available at an adult store near you. Mush's Home Cooked Pancakes available at fine eateries everywhere.

Funkiechick's note: This was fun and full of planning and B rocks. Also, any Italian that is incorrect is purely my fault.

B's note: Funkiechick also rocks. I've never done six hours of planning straight before, and it was surprisingly fun. Any Italian that is incorrect is purely her fault. :-P Weird paragraphing, however, is mine.

Final note: The end of chapter one was celebrated with apricot pie.


	2. Hi, I'm Sober

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

Last night is the night I will remember you by

When I think of things we did

It makes me want to cry

We said our goodbyes (on the night before)

Love was in your eyes (on the night before)

Now today I find, you have changed your mind,

Treat me like you did the night before.

-The Beatles, _The Night Before_

**__**

Two: Hi, I'm Sober

"Fuck no."

"Tony..." David rolled his eyes as he watched Race adjust his cymbals and take a seat on the revolving drum stool. "Come on, it's not like you had a terrible time."

"'Course not. I was drunk."

"But... you don't even know them. And I don't want to go alone. Mush'll be with Blink the whole time." David winced and boxed his ears as Race let loose and cut a long drum fill--as loudly as possible. When he was done, he gave David a large, cheesy grin.

"Sorry, what was that?"

David scowled. "You're a dick."

"Yeah, I am. Which is why your friends don't really want me to come back, Dave."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I was drunk, not deaf. They didn't like me."

"Well," Mush put in, grabbing one of Race's drumsticks before he could drown out the conversation again, "you didn't exactly give them much of a chance either."

Race let out a snort. "Please, one of them thought that Mic Fleetwood was one of history's worst drummers. Why would I give a dumbass like _that_ a chance?"

"See, that is just your problem." David seemed pretty sore by now; after all, these were some good friends of his. And Race had a history of acting like a brat. "You're a snob."

"Taught only from the best," Race answered. "Come on, get to your freaking piano and leave me alone."

"Tony," Dave sighed, then added maliciously, _"Racetrack."_

"Shut up." Race glared at him and yanked his stick free from Mush's grip.

David ignored him and continued, "You know you don't have to be a snob like your family. Just come hang out for awhile. It'll be _fun."_

Race resisted the urge to snort, and instead muttered, "Yeah, right."

"Tony," Mush said, in his soft 'please please please' voice. Race hated that voice. It always got it's way because it was too damned licit. "Tony come on... if me and Dave like them, then they can't be so bad. Right?"

"I don't like anybody," Race answered.

"You like _us."_ David glowered.

"_You_ don't count."

"_Please_ Tony?" Mush even stuck out his lower lip. "Pretty please?"

There was a long silence, and Race almost grabbed his snare and smashed it over Mush's scull, but decided against it. He _was_ a good guy after all.

"You are so gay," Race muttered.

"Is that a yes?!"

"Go away."

"It's a yes!" Mush and David high fived.

"On second thought, I hate you both," Race muttered.

"Yeah, yeah. So are you free after school?"

"I'm going to stab you with my drumstick."

"He's free," Mush answered for him. "So you'll come with us, _right?"_ Though somehow, it didn't sound like a question.

"Yeah. Now leave me alone."

"Thanks, Tony. It means a lot to me." Dave smiled and wandered off to get ready for band.

Race looked as if a thunder cloud had settled over his head. "'Thanks Tony. It means a lot to me,'" he mimicked in a high pitched voice. "Asshole."

"You're _sweet_." Mush rolled his eyes, but still smiling he screwed his mouthpiece into his trumpet. Race didn't answer. He went right to work on his drums, letting in fill, after fill, after fill.

The world seemed to fade out as he played and he found himself lost in the rhythm and sound, the very feeling. Somehow he connected to it, down to his very core; while he was playing, nothing and no one mattered. Not his father, and the weekly drug test; not Mush and David and David's friends who hated him; not the fact that David was right, he _was_ a snob. His worries fell away and he just played.

Sometimes it felt like the sound didn't come from him; it felt too good to forget about things. Years before, Race had turned to another alternative for apathy, a much more dangerous alternative. But even then, the drums had been his savior too. A lot like David and Mush. Always there, always ready if he needed to pound on them to let things go.

Occasionally, they were also there to pound on him when he needed it--when he was being stupid. It was a more frequent occurrence than he wanted to admit in those days, though it rarely actually came to blows. Usually Mush's "I'm going to hit you for your own good," was enough to bring him to his senses, because Mush was terrible at bluffing, and if he said it he meant it. And he only used it as a last resort, when Race was on the brink of doing something dangerous.

Luckily, Race hadn't been up to his old tricks for quite awhile. He'd left them behind, but he'd be lying if he said it had been easy. That had been one of the worst times in his life, and there had been a few. Just thinking about it made Race pound harder, until finally he ended the elaborate instrumental with a crash on the cymbals.

Mush was staring at him, open mouthed.

"What?" Race asked. He knew on some level that if he was emotional, people could hear it when he played, but he didn't think there was any cause to stare at him.

"Nothing," Mush said. "Just... You know you're really good, Tony? Like, _really_ good."

Race smirked, twirled the drumstick between his fingers and blew over the top like it was a gun in an old western. Mush laughed, waved, and made his way over to the brass section before he was too late, and as soon as he was gone, Race ducked his head to hide his grin. So he loved being complimented on his drumming, there was nothing wrong with that.

Usually, drumming was how he met girls. Well... the primary source of how he met girls. The rich Italian part didn't hurt either, but in the end, drums were more Race. Yet, when he heard praise such as that from Mush, or David, and occasionally from his sisters, it was like it made his whole day. Yeah, Race knew he was good. But it was funny; when a person was truly spectacular at something, it was when they were most humble.

Because in Race's mind, he could always be better.

Before he could wonder too much about it, Professor Aiosa, the jazz band instructor, began to gather people's attention and he was more than happy to slip away into the music again. It sounded even better with an ensemble, but somehow he always felt like he was at least partially responsible for it, carrying everyone else on his beat. It was a good feeling, good enough that he forgot his after school destination until David reminded him during the last period.

Really, chemistry was bad enough as it was. As remembered, he would have failed it if it hadn't been for David. But being reminded of a meeting with a bunch of people who didn't like you and the feeling was mutual, while you were trying to remember bionic compounds, was never something to bring good cheer to a person's mood. Luckily, Race's day hadn't been too shabby.

"So, you're still coming... Right?"

God, David could be so sappy. It was the big blue eyes.

"Don't worry, princess, I said I would."

And somehow, David just smiled in response, used to Race's digs by that point. Also, because he could see Race was hurriedly copying his homework before they had to turn it in. "Tony..." he said disapprovingly.

"I wouldn't have been too hungover to do it myself this weekend if you hadn't dragged me to that party," Race answered.

Mush poked him in the ribs from the other side. "Tony, do your own work, would you?"

"Hey, _you_ copied my history this morning," Race answered.

Mush started to respond, then shrugged. Race had a point. Homework, in their clique of friends, was really all communal.

They had a system; David copied Mush's English Lit, Mush copied Race's history, and Race copied David's chem. Really, David didn't copy much off of Mush because... well, David _had_ gotten a scholarship for this school. But he spent so many hours on math and sciences, that he was simply too tired sometimes. None the less, it was a system. One that Race liked. It was because of this system, and because of his affection (unspoken, of course) for his two best friends, that Race tried not to complain when the bell rang, and the time came for him to actually _re-meet_ these people.

They stopped briefly at Race's house so he could drop off his car, as his parents would definitely _not_ let him bring it to That Part Of Town, and he changed out of his uniform and into casual clothes, and they piled into Mush's for the trip. David grabbed a bus across town in to school; unlike Race and Mush, his family didn't have ungodly amounts of money to throw around and he didn't have his own car. But he was just as happy to get a ride home with Mush, who just wanted to see the guy he'd hooked up with at the party again.

Race, on the other hand, was hoping to avoid whoever he'd hooked up with. Largely because he still couldn't remember her clearly.

"Hey, Tweedle Dum and Dee," Race said from his spot in the back seat. David shot him a _look_ (he was famous for them) but Mush snorted.

__

"Yes?" David responded.

"Do you remember me disappearing into any rooms with a girl?"

There was some silence as David looked clueless. "I don't think so... I was outside the whole time."

"Something vague," Mush answered, twirling the steering wheel. "Why?"

"Because there's some chick out there who is the creator of..." Race's pulled down the collar of his shirt to display his love bites, "_these._"

David laughed. "Well, we're not meeting up with any girls today, so... I doubt you'll run into her."

"So who're we meeting?" Mush asked eagerly, in a manner that made Race want to smack him. So it was probably for the best that he was belted in the back behind David and couldn't reach, because after all, Mush was driving.

David laughed. "Blink and the band. And Jack and Spot, I think."

"Band?" Race asked curiously, before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be interested. David laughed again, which he found really irritating, and he _could_ reach to hit David, so he did.

"Ouch!" David snapped. "That hurt..." But he laughed again on the last word. "Tony, you have serious issues."

"Big surprise." Race rolled his eyes, and looked out the window. He didn't see Mush and David glance at each other with knowing smirks, as if counting down the seconds until...

"So... is their band any good?"

"Well," David said, then paused, trying to find a way to say it politely. He gave up after a second. "No, not really. I mean... They're not _bad,_ exactly. They just don't... Mesh well together."

"Oh." Race went back to being uninterested until, "Why not?"

David turned around and smirked. "No drummer," he said.

__

"Really?" Race raised an eyebrow. "How can you have a band without a drummer? That's like... fettuccini without alfredo."

Mush burst out laughing, and even Race had to smirk at his own joke. David seemed unamused. "Their last one quit."

"Why?"

David bit his lip. "It's... complicated."

"So explain it. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

"You know, Tony, sometimes I'm not surprised you don't make good first impressions," Mush said mildly from the front seat.

"Well, they had a drummer. And he wasn't very good."

"Pete Best," Race commented, interrupting.

David assumed that, because it was Race talking, it was an obscure reference to a drummer he'd never heard of, and continued. "Except he thought he was good. And they kind of argued about it... A lot. He'd been really good friends with them, and the entire band nearly broke up over it, and they're all still really pissed about the whole thing."

Race ran his index fingers down his cheeks, making mock tears. "That's just so sad..."

"Either you stop asking questions, or take them seriously!" David's face was turning a little red. It always did when he was mad. _"Racetrack."_

Race's face fell. "Take it back."

"Raaccetrrraaccckkk."

"Shut up!"

"We're here!" Mush broke in, over-cheerful, pulling into a parking spot. Race looked out the window and sneered.

"Oh my _God."_

"Hey jackass, I live two blocks that way, so shut up," David snapped, pointing down the road. Usually, he went to visit Mush or Race, not the other way around, and that was why.

Race had the good grace to not say anything; if he got David mad enough he'd have to do his chem homework on his own, and that made shutting up worth it.

"I'm just gonna go get Jack and Spot and we'll walk to Blink's, okay?"

Mush nodded, grinning ear to ear, and Race sighed and nodded. He remembered Mush going on about this Blink guy in great detail all through lunch and study hall... And English, and history... And in chem, though Race had blocked him out in an attempt to actually figure out what the hell was going on... And he probably had in band, but Race didn't have to listen to him then. The guy was disgustingly smitten. Race just hoped whoever Blink was wasn't equally so, because he didn't think he could put up with _two_ of them.

"Tony." Mush turned to look at him. "Just wait, he's so great!"

"Mush, this is _bad._ You're starting to _rhyme."_

He continued, "He's so funny, and outgoing, and _blond.._." Mush looked in the rear-view mirror. "Do I look okay?"

Race had to grin. Okay, so maybe he was kind of happy for Mush. He couldn't really help it, after all. Mush got a tough time sometimes, with being gay. And Race wasn't _completely _heartless.

"You always look great, Mushee."

That made Mush absolutely beam. "Thanks, Tony." Finally, the two stepped out of the car, and Mush locked it quickly as they rushed up to David, who was waiting at the front porch, giving Race another of his looks. One of the lecture ones. _Shit_.

He opened his mouth, and Race cut him off. "Yes, Davey, I'll play nice, share my toys and everything. Jesus."

"You'd better. These two don't have it so great, and they're like brothers to me, so if you act like an asshole I swear to god..." He trailed off, unable to think of a suitable threat.

Race held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine! I'll keep my mouth shut, so long as no one says anything to _me."_

"Good," David said, and knocked on the door.

They were silent as they waited for someone to appear (Mush was looking so excited he was ready to explode, and Race really wondered what he'd be like when they actually met this guy.) Finally, the door opened, and in the frame stood a tall, handsome, rugged-type boy with jeans, a black Def Leppard tee, and a button up red flannel shirt thrown over top.

Mush and David immediately gave Race warning looks, and Race shrugged. He usually had this _thing_ with flannel.

"Davey!" The boy exclaimed. "Nice uniform. Too bad Sarah doesn't prance around in one a those."

"Very funny." David gave him a friendly thump on the arm. "Where's Spot?"

"Putting on pants."

"Do I want to ask why Spot's not wearing any pants at four in the afternoon?"

"Probably not, no." The boy paused for a second, then yelled back into the house, "SPOT, would you hurry it UP?"

He got a reply from somewhere inside, which wasn't terribly coherent but sounded a lot like "Go to hell!" and caused the guy wearing flannel to roll his eyes.

"Spot in one of his moods?" David asked.

"When ain't he? SPOT, what the HELL is TAKING YOU so LONG?"

"Christ, Jack," the voice said, close enough that he wasn't yelling, "go take some fucking Prozac or something." And the source of the voice stepped into view.

Though dressed a lot like flannel boy (strait-legged jeans, dirty tee and a jean jacket), somehow the clothes didn't fit him; he was too good for them. Race wasn't an expert on male beauty, but 'Spot' looked kind of like one of those male vogue models. Puffed lips, high cheekbones... over all, he had a face that could make anyone stare.

"You look _stunning,"_ flannel boy joked, and Spot shoved him.

"I always do. Who the fuck are you two?" Spot asked Race and Mush, though in a non-threatening , almost friendly low voice. Race decided Spot probably always greeted people this way.

"I'm--"

"Wait, you'd be the queer guy Blink won't shut up about, right?" Spot interrupted, and Mush beamed, which made Spot look almost as disgusted as Race felt. Maybe this Spot guy wouldn't be so bad.

"Spot..." David sighed, but Spot ignored him.

"And I remember_ you,"_ Spot continued, sizing up Race, who suddenly felt short. He _was_ short, but usually no one noticed; he worked out enough that he could be intimidating anyway. But now he _felt_ short, which annoyed him. He took back his previous thought that maybe Spot wasn't so bad.

And Race, being the moody Italian he was, frowned at Spot, trying to make himself appear taller. Didn't work of course. "Have we met?" Race answered, his voice sounding snotty even to his own ears. He caught David wincing, and shaking his head. Oh well. He tried... for two seconds.

"You don't remember?" Spot looked amused. Like he was laughing at Race. Which Race didn't like.

"Should I?"

"Under the circumstances, yes. ANYONE should." Then Spot shrugged. "Oh well, your loss. Jacky-Boy," Spot turned to look at flannel-boy, "grab a key."

"Yeah yeah..." 'Jacky-boy' disappeared inside a moment, and reappeared with a set of keys attached to a handcuff key-chain.

Race wanted to ask why he ought to remember having met Spot before, but wasn't going to lower himself to it. But he did smirk once Spot stepped onto the porch and he got a better look at the kid, who may have been taller than he was, but was built like a twig. It looked like a strong breeze would snap him in half.

"What're you staring at?" Spot snapped.

Race smirked back. "Nothing, Skinny."

"Yeah, izzat so, _Shorty?"_

The smirk fell from Race's face. He definitely didn't like Spot after all.

"Guys," David said. Spot rolled his eyes at the same moment Race did. Then Race glared at him. He was infuriated when Spot did not glare back. He smirked again.

"_Cazzo_..." Race mumbled.

"An' what's that mean?" Spot asked.

"Look it up."

"So, so did Blink really talk about me!?" Mush pushed Race to the side and stepped in time with Spot as the five of them walked down the pavement. "What did he say?"

Spot looked, to be frank, as if he was about to slap Mush. But he didn't. "I dunno..."

"He likes yer smile, he said that," Jack broke in. Mush smiled, and Spot muttered something about how Jack shouldn't encourage people.

"He likes my smile..." Mush repeated dreamily.

"God, what a fucking pair," Spot said disgustedly. "He been like that since Friday? 'Cause Blink has and I swear I'm _this_ close to beating the crap out of him."

"Oh, come on, it's cute," David argued.

"It's not," Race muttered. "It's annoying."

"You're just bitter because no one loves you, Tony," Mush said, playfully shoving him off the sidewalk. "Not like me and Bliiiiiiiiink." 

"Jesus," Race muttered to himself.

"We'll get a civil union, and then we're going to adopt two point four children, and–"

"Maybe you should ask him about that?" David suggested. "Because we're here."

"We're here!" Mush exclaimed, and pranced (goddamn _pranced_) into the... open garage. A garage band. Race should've known. Only a garage band wouldn't have a drummer and still call themselves a band.

In it were three males. One was a tall unconventionally good looking blond with rimless spectacles. He was tuning a red fender, cradling it like a child. The thin one holding the bass was Spanish, and wore a T-shirt that read 'Nowhere Man'.

Race didn't remember any of them, but decided the instrumentless male that Mush was wrapping himself around had to be the infamous Blink.

"Nice place," Race muttered. Only David heard, and he elbowed Race sharply in the ribs.

"Can't... breath..." Blink gasped. Mush paid no heed.

"Mushee," Davey called, "if you don't let him inhale, he can't kiss you hello." Which seemed to do the trick, because Mush loosened his grip, and as promised, the blond kissed him.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Mush said, sounding like he was suddenly overcome with a bout of shyness, which was ridiculous, given that he still had his arms clenched tight around Blink.

"Miss me?" Blink offered.

"More than you can imagine."

"I think I've got pretty good idea..." Blink said, and kissed him again.

"Get a room, you two," the other blond commented, rolling his eyes.

"At least we've got a groupie now," the Spanish one noted.

Oh, Race had _so_ many sarcastic comments. And they were _good!_ But David still had a sharp eye on him. "Well, uh..." David stepped forward, giving Race's ear a tug at the same time. Spot snorted, and Race glared. "I'll introduce... Mush, Blink, two seconds, please."

Mush and Blink--reluctantly--turned away from the other. Race couldn't help but notice that they were indeed quite a cute couple. Not that Race would ever, _ever_ say this out loud.

"Okay, obviously, this is Blink..." David pointed, and Blink gave a wave, and resumed his position of cuddling Mush. "This is Dutchy..."

"Look at this." Dutchy held up his guitar. "Isn't it stunning? You know, I really think it's the nicest guitar on the whole fucking planet."

"Dutchy just got a new guitar for his birthday," Jack informed Race. Race nodded slightly.

"This is Itey." David gave the Spanish boy a pat on the shoulder. He smiled shyly, and bowed his head in a friendly manner.

"Guys, that's Mush--"

"We figured," Dutchy interrupted. "Since Blink's been kind of single minded since Friday."

"Awww, you have?" Mush asked, and Blink nodded. "That's so sweet." And then they were kissing again.

"You know what?" David said thoughtfully, after watching them for a second. "I think everyone else is right. That's just annoying."

Blink flipped him off without moving his mouth away from Mush's. David rolled his eyes and finally finished, "And this is Tony, who's really not such an asshole when he's sober."

Which was actually cause enough for Blink to separate himself from Mush momentarily, size up Race, and mutter, "We'll see," under his breath.

Race rolled his eyes. "I can't wait," he replied, and then, not being able to help it, let out a laugh. "Nice 'band'. Where's the drummer?"

"Tony-" David started, but Dutchy cut in.

"He left, the dick!"

"Bruce isn't a dick, Dutchy," Itey started, but Dutchy continued.

"He's a big dick and he left us, the DICK."

Even Race was speechless.

Dutchy seemed to have that effect on people.

"Wow. Sorry I asked," Race finally said after a long silence.

"I _told_ you not to bring it up," David snapped.

"You been spreading rumors about us, Davey?" Itey asked, sounding amused.

"Yeah," David answered evenly. Race noted that David seemed a lot more relaxed with these guys than he did at school, where he was as uptight as humanly possible about all things, all the time. But then, Race did remember him saying something about having lived on the same street as all of them since they were in diapers, having been in the same school since kindergarten, and how accepting the scholarship to Race's school had been the most nerve wracking thing he'd ever done.

Race even felt a little jealous. He didn't have many close friends...well, in fact, only two. Mush and David. He didn't want anyone taking them away, because they were all Race had. Sure, he had his acquaintances, but really, these two had been everything to him for a long time.

The afternoon continued much the same for awhile, with David and his 'posse' laughing about inside jokes, and Mush and Blink making out, and Race was feeling very alone, and very bored, and eyeing the abandoned drumset with hunger. He didn't notice that Spot was staring at him, with a raised eyebrow.

"Bored?" Spot asked finally.

"Shouldn't you be giggling with the rest of them?" Race asked bitterly, and as if the universe had decided to give him perfect timing, Dutchy said something that made everyone listening crack up.

"You joking? I've lived here two months, and I still haven't figured a damn thing they're talking about. This sucks. Let's blow."

Race hesitated, and then glanced over and saw that David was totally absorbed in talking with Jack, and that Mush was still making out with Blink, and the band as a whole was laughing more than they were playing. In fact, Race hadn't yet heard them play at all.

"Yeah," Race finally agreed.

"Cool." Spot stood up and announced, "You suck. The midget and I are ditching you all."

"Have fun, Spot," Jack called, not looking away form his conversation.

"Don't call me 'midget'," Race muttered as Spot shoved his hands into his pockets and they started off. Race ignored David's yell of 'PLAY NICE!' and wished that Spot was walking off the curb so Race could at least reach his nose.

"Fucking sunshine, ain't you?" Spot asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and a lighter. "Want a cancer stick?"

"I don't smoke."

"Mister High and Mighty," Spot answered, taking a puff. "What _do_ you do, then?"

Race didn't know why, but Spot's attention was unnerving, and making him uncomfortable. "Do you care?"

"Not really. Just wonder what you rich kids do with all your money that us peasants can't afford."

"Cocaine, mostly," Race answered bitterly. He was bitter enough that he didn't even make a snide comment about being impressed that Spot knew the word 'peasants.'

"You _serious?"_ Spot asked.

"Yeah, sure. I'm a seventeen year old recovering coke addict." Race rolled his eyes, and was inwardly amazed. He got the same reaction telling the truth like that as he did when someone asked what his dad did and he answered with Mafia hitman. He didn't have to lie, because no one believed him. People just assumed no one would tell the truth about something like that, that it _had_ to be a lie.

"Jesus." Spot muttered, smoke seeping out of his lips. "Are you all so fucked up?"

"Buy the book, why don't you?" Race snapped. Spot shrugged, kicking a pebble with his bright red, beat up sneakers.

"You brought up the coke thing, man."

"Totally, dude."

Spot stopped in his tracks, staring incredulously at Race, but still looking faintly amused. "You are a HUGE asshole."

Race didn't have a comeback for the moment. Really, though, he had to applaud Spot on his restraint. Race was grumpy. By now, David would have smacked him.

"Really, just a tiny asshole," Race answered.

Spot started to respond, then decided it was funny and laughed instead. "You'd get beat up so fast in a public school, man."

"Yeah, well, luckily I don't _go_ to a public school, _man."_ He paused. "And what's with everyone's stupid nicknames, anyway?"

"They grew up together, they gave each other nicknames. They like me, I get one too." Spot answered. "Don't you think say... _Spot_ sounds better than _Tony?"_ Spot added an exaggerated, almost insulting Italian accent on Race's name.

Spot was a challenge. For some reason, Race really wanted to piss him off. He acted like he knew something Race didn't. "Well, sure, if you're naming a dog."

"That actually has nothing to do with it," Spot informed. "But, you ain't the type a guy who catches on to things very quickly. Otherwise you'd remember me."

"What the fuck are you _talking_ about-"

"TONY!!"

Spot and Race turned their heads. David was rushing towards them, holding Race's cell-phone. "Oh _shit,"_ Race snapped.

"Your dad...called... twice..." David skidded to a halt behind them, handing Race the phone, panting slightly. "You should start turning it off more."

"I know, I keep forgetting."

He went to hit the button to dial his voicemail, but the phone started ringing again so instead he made the mistake of answering it. It was his father.

"Where the hell are you?" his father demanded unceremoniously.

"Look--"

"Answer the question."

He sighed. "I'm at David's." Which was only technically a lie; he was close enough that he could be at David's house in just a few minutes, and he was _with_ David, so it was more or less the same thing.

"The same David who got you drunk on Friday?"

"He did not--" he paused and shot a look at David, who looked concerned, and Spot, who looked amused, and hissed into the phone, "Can we discuss this later?"

"We will discuss it at _great_ length later," his father promised. "Your mother and I have told you before, we don't approve of--"

"I know, I know!" Race interrupted. "Look, he's just helping me with my chem, okay? Mush is here too. I swear, nothing you'd _disapprove_ of is going on."

"Michael?"

__

"Si."

Whenever Race wanted to calm his father down, speaking in Italian always worked. Probably made Paulo Valentino/Higgins feel like a family man. A normal one. Then again, Race only remembered to do this when he himself wasn't pissed off too. But at that moment, Race would have done anything to make sure his dad didn't start acting like an asshole to David.

"You are coming home now."

"Soon."

"By six. _Ciao."_

"Yeah, _ciao."_

Race jammed his thumb on the off button, and started ranting at a fantastic rate, in Italian. It was the way he was raised, since it was his first language, so whenever he ranted, it came out Italian.

He only stopped when he saw that David and Spot were staring at him. "What?" he snapped testily.

"What the hell was _that?"_ Spot demanded.

"He does that sometimes," David said calmly. "Sometimes I think he's not even speaking Italian, he's just trying to convince us he is."

Race's reply was also in Italian, and very unflattering, which was obvious from his tone if not his language choice.

"So what's Mussolini want?" David asked, having heard Race refer to his father as a fucking dictator on more than one occasion.

"I've gotta be home by six."

"Aww, and we were just starting to have fun, too."

"Shut up, Spot." And it was nice to hear David tell someone else to be quiet for a change.

David checked his watch, and let a worried noise escape his lips. "It's a quarter after five now, Tony. We better get you back. You live half-way across town."

"In one of the _big_ houses?"

Race had to admire the amount of sarcasm Spot could get into a sentence. "Fuck you," he replied.

"Mush will want to stay with Blink." David immediately started walking back towards the garage, and Spot and Race followed. "I'll drive you home and bring the car back."

"I'm heartbroken."

"RACE."

"Don't _call_ me that."

"Ah HA," Spot interrupted. "So you have a stupid nickname, too."

"Go to hell."

Spot gave him a weird look. "So you hate your dad or what?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"'Cause you got a fucking curfew? You don't know a fucking thing about what a lousy father is like." Spot narrowed his eyes.

"Spot--" David started, but Race was already walking away, ignoring both of them. Because if he didn't ignore it, he was going to say something he regretted. He'd probably tell the truth; that his father killed people for a living, and even if his family _was_ rich because of it, Race _did_ know what having a bad father was like.

He wasn't about to bond with Spot, least of all because they had fathers with belligerent behavior. So he reached the garage, and waltzed right up to Mush and Blink--who were making a whole new name for the term 'making out', lying on an old couch that sat at the garage's edge.

He stood there for awhile, and finally shoved Mush with his toe. Nothing. He did it again, and Mush pulled back from Blink, looking irritated.

__

"What?"

"Car keys."

__

"Why?"

"Dad."

"...oh." Mush dug into his pocket, and produced the set of keys, flipping them up at Race. 

Race expected him to go back to making out with Blink, but Mush paused for a second, then finally asked, "Did you get in trouble when you got home Saturday?"

"It was fine."

"I mean... I meant to keep you out of trouble, but I got kind of..." he ran a hand through Blink's hair. "Distracted," he finished.

"Yeah, now you're just making me ill," Race answered.

"So what, you need a babysitter?"

"Shut UP, Spot," David snapped, then to Race, "Let's go."

"And hey, Tony? Try not to crash it this time," Mush called, before turning his attention back to Blink.

Race almost turned right around and smacked Mush, but it was hard to smack Mush because the guy was really so damned unsmackable. Especially when he was making out with someone.

"Crash his car, eh? Was this during one of your 'coke phases'?" Spot asked. Race didn't get a chance to reply as David shoved him along as they walked the few houses down to Jack and Spot's--where Mush's car remained.

"Is Spot usually such a dick?"

"Are you usually so charming?"

"He provoked me!"

David rolled his eyes.

"Well, he _did." _And Race didn't care how sulky he sounded; it was the truth. For a change, he hadn't been at fault.

"Yes, Spot's like that with everyone," David finally answered, as he climbed into the driver's seat. Race wanted to point out that he had the keys, but decided he wasn't in the mood to argue with David, and besides, it sounded like he might actually get to hear some sort of gossip, so he handed over the keys. "Spot's got a right to be kind of a dick, though."

"And I don't?"

"No, you're just spoiled."

"Well, I'm glad you feel we're close enough that you don't have to sugarcoat things, Dave."

"Well, you _are."_

"And we were talking about _Spot_."

David sighed, and glanced over his shoulder as they backed out of Spot and Jack's driveway. "Listen, it's his business..."

"Tell me."

"Race."

"Tony," Race corrected.

__

"Tony." David sighed once more, and it felt as if Race was the teenager and David the parent. "Listen, Spot's been in like, four foster homes in the past two years, okay? And they've all been hell." 

Race didn't respond. A foster kid. "Oh," he finally said.

"Yeah. So cut him some slack, all right?"

Race didn't answer, but he found himself lost in thought. So Spot was a foster kid, living with Jack. So was Jack being fostered as well? Or was it just that his family did it? He almost asked David, then figured Dave would probably find a way to be offended by the question and stayed quiet.

But even by the time he got home, he couldn't get Spot off his mind.

*

Spot felt free to make himself at home--that is, he marched into Blink's house, and brought out a case of beer for the crew as they waited for David to get back. Mush didn't take one, but looked nervously around the circle of boys. He knew none of them really liked Race, and he was feeling very protective. After all, Race meant a lot to him. And he wanted them to like him. He couldn't help it.

He was about to say something, but Spot did first.

"He's more fun when he's drunk."

"You actually talked to him?" Jack asked, sounding incredulous.

"No," Spot said, and smirked, and let it hang in the air. There was a long pause and he drained half of his beer, and looked back to see everyone else looking confused--except Mush.

Mush looked like he was slowly doing a math equation in his head, and then his eyes went wide.

"Oh my GOD," Mush gaped. _"You're_ the hot chick!!"

Spot grinned as everyone made confused sounds, and Jack let out a "What the _hell_?' Then Mush burst out into a fit of laughter, tears and all, seeming to think that this was probably the funniest, and worst thing to ever happen in the history of Race doing stupid things when he was drunk.

Then he stopped laughing. Abruptly. It made the others stare. "You can't tell him."

"Wait, tell who what?" Dutchy asked, having a fairly good idea what was going on, but not sure because... Well, because Race was a jerk, and he couldn't picture anyone really wanting to hook up with him.

Spot shrugged. "Well, I kissed him to make him stop talking, and he seemed pretty into it, so..."

"You _can't_ tell him," Mush insisted. "You'll shatter his whole... image and... way of life. Totally."

"Sounds fun to me. He's kind of a prick."

"Says the guy who made out with him," Jack inserted.

"Hey, in that respect, he was very worthy of the cause." Spot finished off his beer, and grabbed another one from the box, gripping the tap off with his teeth.

"If you keep doing that, they're gonna fall out..." Itey observed. Spot ignored him.

"Please..." Mush clasped his hands together. "_Please_ don't tell him or anyone else!"

They were quiet, and Blink cupped Mush's chin in his hands. "Come on, Spotty, look at that face. How can you say no? You can't."

__

"You can't. I think I could."

"Oh, come _on,"_ Dutchy snapped. "Look, he's a prick; whatever, you'd be too if you actually had money. We weren't exactly warm and friendly either. He's straight, Spot, he was just drunk." He paused, and shot a questioning look at Mush. "At least, I'm assuming...?"

"Straight as an arrow," Mush agreed. "Well. Mostly."

"You either are, or you aren't," Jack pressed. Mush bit his lip as they all zeroed in on him. Even Blink looked curious, and he didn't jump to his rescue. Mush glared.

"Well, he does look at me a lot when I don't have a shirt on."

Everyone resumed looking disinterested.

"What?" Mush asked.

"Honey, _everyone_ would," Blink answered.

"...oh." Mush thought about that for a second. "Thanks!" he added, then paused again. "It's just, you know, I think Race might not be as straight as he thinks he is, but he had a pretty traditional upbringing... Sort of... And it wouldn't even occur to him that he's not. And if it did, he'd either just deny it or freak out, and I think if someone else suggested it, he'd freak out."

"So?"

"So I've seen him freak out, and it's really... Not a good situation for anyone involved." Mush actually shuddered. "Please, just... Let it go."

Then all eyes switched from Mush on to Spot, who looked as if Christmas had just been cancelled. Or whatever a joyous festivity for Spot was. He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed snort.

"Fine."

"Well." Jack gave an impressed noise. "You never do anything when _I_ ask." Spot blinked, taking a sip of his beer.

"That's because you're a shit."

"Thank you."

Blink leant his head on Mush's shoulder, made himself comfortable, and asked, "But seriously, what do you see in that guy?"

"Oh, come on. He's not so bad once you get to know him." He paused, and his eyes lit on the drumset, and he remembered the situation the band was in. "And he drums."

Dutchy scoffed. "Uh huh. Right. Is he any _good_?"

"Yeah!" Mush nodded his head, and then stopped because Blink was making himself comfortable on Mush's shoulder. "He's _amazing_."

"Yeah, what do you know about drumming, Mush?" Spot was looking highly skeptical. Mush was having none of it.

"Just as much as _you,"_ he shot back. "I promise, you guys...he's really, really good."

"We'll see." Blink answered.

"I don't think so," Spot said. "I don't think we're likely to see him again at all."

"I don't know, David and I could probably convince him to come back. I mean, _if_ you guys promised to not make him all defensive."

"Somehow, I don't think it was our fault," Dutchy muttered.

Mush shrugged. "He's rich, and he knows it, and he has no idea how to act around people who aren't, okay? Just give him time."

"Well..." Itey spoke up. "We do kind of need a drummer."

Dutchy and Blink stared incredulously at Itey. "Are you serious?" Dutchy asked blankly. Itey nodded. It wasn't often that Itey asked them to do something, and when he did, they tended to want to agree. He was the most selfless individual they had ever known, and thus...

"Fine," Blink said. "We'll give him a shot."

"Yay!" Mush eeped, and gave Blink a firm kiss on the mouth. Spot rolled his eyes at Jack, who shot him a grin.

Spot didn't say anything.

But for the rest of the day, he couldn't get Race off his mind.

*

Funkiechick: You'll note how much fun was had making Race a mean little bitch.

B: Oh yes. Ohhhhhhh yes

F: Also, anorexic!Spot is oddly sexy and we really should consider therapy.

B: And we checked; legally we can't be held liable for any sugar-shock induced comas that resulted from Mush and Blink

F: Though it should be noted that despite what dentists say, some sugar is _extremely_ good for you.

B: At least, _this_ kind is. Yummmm.

F: Later, the rating will be upped to r, as in rroooowwwrrrrr.

B: Ingredients in the SpRace Cake really call for it. (And don't even get us started on the off screen Blush Martinis...)

F: Also, note that Blink is sexy and licks the microphone when he sings.

B: And really, how phallic is the whole mic setup, anyway?

F: DrummerProdigee!Race will soon be featured naked on autographed posters at your local Megatunes.

B: His in-store appearance schedule has yet to be finalized, though.

F: Because we just may keep him with us to stare at for awhile.

B: Rrrrrrrowr.

__

(Spot: Back off! Fag hags!)

B: Teehee. Longest ANs ever. But hey; longest chapter ever....

F: _So_ true. And hey, nothing beats my long shout outs.

****

hilaRy: 

B: We're not trying to kill you. We need you to write Vaudeville.

F: But if you had to die/ Spot/Race is _the_ way to go.

****

Seraph:

F: Apricot pie is third on the delicious list!

B: Well, really, even most delicious things can't be compared to the deliciousness of Italian!Racetrack and Bluepoloshirt!Mush

F: But Apricot Pie AND Italian!Racetrack plus Bluepoloshirt!Mush?

B: yum.

****

Shadowlands

B: Race _is_ always cool. It's a law. Even when he's a whiny bitch.

F: Cool? COOL? B b!! Someone called us cool!

B: Aaaaah! Thankyou! :)

****

Omni

F: Be sure to order quickly, they're selling like hot cakes!

B: Thank you; that'll be $25. Please send us your credit card number and billing info...

****

Hotshot

F: Oh, now you _know_ who Race hooked up with and doesn't it make the world a more delicious place?

B: Gee, it isn't surprising anymore when Mush and Blink hookup when I'm writing? Imagine that...

F: It's because your a M/B whore.

B: Oh, right. As for the family business Well Wait and see. ;)

****

Stage

B: Yay! We're different! [squeal]

F: Godfather...equals...AL PACINO! *squeal* [faints]

B: [revives Funkie] I like Italian food, personally. Or maybe that's just because pasta is the only thing I know how to cook.

F: I love Italian food because I never get it. I tried to make lasagna once and it set on fire.

****

Gothic Author

B: Mafia!Race? Welllllll.... Maaaaaaybe....

F: Collaboration is a good thing, especially considering the discoveries B and I made whilst writing ahead of time...

B: Ahahahahahah! Don't mind us while we cackle madly at upcoming chapters.

****

Holiday

F: Well, believe me honey, you like Italian!Race and Bluepoloshirt!Mush? You ain't seen nothing yet.

B: And hangover suck. Hardcore.

F: Amen to that.

Final notes:

F: B and I are obsessed and it's not healthy, but it's the best form of non-healthy.

B: We'll try to get the next chapter out soon and keep this fairly regularly updated, but the sudden return of things like "school" and "work" might slow us down a bit.

F: And I say, fuck school and work for being so important.

B: Woo! Amen to that.

-this chapter celebrated with internet tea and plums-


	3. Rhythmic Breathing

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

What could you both possibly share?

Other than the color of your hair?

Sean said, "We both play guitar"

Never even have to say a word

That's the best thing that I ever heard

You have left a fingerprint on me

Just dust and then you'll surely see

I've got my reservations

And I hate my generation

-Sloan, _I Hate My Generation_

****

Chapter Three: Rhythmic Breathing

"Ya know, they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results," Race mused.

"You know, they say the definition of jackass is--well, basically you," David answered.

"Reeeeeal slick insult, there." Race kicked the back of David's seat, which caused David to roll his eyes, even though Race couldn't see him do it from behind.

"Fight nicely now, you two," Mush scolded cheerfully. "Look, Tony, they felt bad. Spot was a real asshole to you, which he usually is, but everyone else didn't mean it. They all _promised_ to give you another chance if you'll do it for them."

"Yeah, yeah," Race sighed and slumped in his seat.

"Look Tony, you've been complaining about getting a band since we saw Aerosmith live four years ago," David said. "And you've been playing drums for as long as..."

"For as long as I've been gay." Mush nodded. David gave Mush a pat on the shoulder without looking away from Race.

"That's right, and Mush has been gay a long time."

"Very gay."

"The gayest."

"Would you _stop_ talking about Mush being _gay?"_ Race snapped. "You think I wanna hear that?"

Mush rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling as David continued.

"You need a band, Tony. You deserve one. So give them another chance."

"Well, that wouldn't exactly be _my_ band, would it? It would be _a_ band of me and people who don't like me."

"They'll like you once they hear you play," Mush promised. "Trust me. I had a long talk with Blink about it last night."

"You mean you managed to get your tongue out of his mouth long enough to talk?" Race answered.

"I thought you didn't want to hear anything else about how gay I am," Mush replied, semi-defensively, then added, "...but you have to admit he's cute."

"I don't have to admit _any_thing," Race shot back at him. "And anyway, if I was in a band with them, it'd be like...messy break up, instantly. Seriously, pure Fleetwood Mac." Race crumpled his nose. "Only we wouldn't all sleep with each other."

"That _could_ happen."

Race and David both gave odd looks to Mush, who smiled innocently. "You're in a weird mood today, Mushee," Race said.

"So, you're going to come," David said immediately. "Because would you pass up a chance to show off? _Never._"

Race tried to find a snappy reply, shut his mouth when he couldn't, and kicked David's chair again. So David knew him too well. So what?

"Okay." Race nodded, crossing his arms. "Okay, I'll go, BUT," he cut David and Mush off before they could say anything, "as long as I get to throw back anything they throw at me."

"Tony, you think everybody throws things at you. You think _frisbee_ players are throwing things at you. When really, they're just playing frisbee."

"Hey." Race pointed a finger at him, his face looking very much like Al Pacino in _The Godfather_ just then. "Don't talk back to me."

"Oooh, feisty."

Once again, David and Race stared at Mush.

__

"What?"

Race smacked the back of Mush's head and went back to the assignment he was half-heartedly working on in study hall and ignoring Mush and David. Mush had been acting weird all day, and even gayer than normal. Not that he was particularly flaming or anything, but he was definitely one of those guys who people met and just sort of _assumed._ Correctly. Race could never quite put his finger on why, though.

And David seemed to have decided to make Race his new project; he had resolved, after three years of close friendship, that merely two friends weren't enough for Race. So he was downright determined that Race would become friends with his clique from home, and that they'd love Race back, and it would be a festival of mutually accepting people despite gaping differences in their backgrounds.

He was optimistic. Race was, needless to say, very skeptical.

David failed to notice that, despite his joke earlier, not all people could tolerate jackasses. Race had a theory that David and Mush were only friends with him because they knew without them, he wouldn't really have any. He'd just be that guy who plays drums and makes out with chicks at parties.

"Tony?"

"Eh," Race replied, still scribbling in his chem notebook (David was making him study three hours of it a day...at _least.)_

"Are you interested in anyone right now?"

Race shot his head up at Mush. "Okay, you are acting _very_ odd today. What's wrong with you?"

"Yeah, Mush," David said, sounding much more friendly, but still curious. "What _is_ wrong with you?"

Mush glanced at Race, who had gone back to his notebook, muttering out chemical equations. Mush mouthed out to David, 'I'll tell you later'.

David didn't like secrets. But he kept his mouth shut.

Race managed not to fling his pencil across the room in frustration, though only because David turned around, read his notes upside down--reading the right side up was hard enough, given Race's handwriting, and the fact that David _could_ do it upside down was impressive--and pointed to the large mistake Race had made. "Seriously, how did you even pass math?"

"Math makes _sense,"_ Race snarled. "We can't all be here on freaking _scholarships,_ Dave."

David rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well if you don't stop forgetting the difference between addition and multiplication, you're going to fail out entirely."

"Shut up." Race shooed David away from his homework and corrected the mistake. But all in all, he was having a very weird day, and began to wonder if maybe seeing David's posse would actually be a step up.

When school finally slothed it's way to an end (Race didn't know why, but he hated Tuesdays a lot more than he hated Mondays) Race was glad he'd caught the bus with David that morning. It would save them a trip of dropping off Race's car. Race didn't like buses, but he'd done it because David _had_ given him a ride home the night before when he'd clearly wanted to stay with Blink and the others, so it was Race's way of saying "yeah yeah, I'm grateful." Because Race would never actually _say_ that.

Luckily, by that point, David and Mush were both fluent in Race-speak. 

Mush drove them again, and Race tried to ignore the dread he was feeling. For all though he was perfectly aware that he wasn't exactly Mister Sunshine Easy To Live With, he didn't actually like being surrounded by people who outright disliked him. And unlike school, where most people would just roll their eyes at him or ignore him entirely, David's friends had made it clear that they _really_ disliked him.

Especially Spot. Who Race didn't want to have to deal with again.

But at least he'd get to drum in front of a new audience--which always made him nervous, but at the same time, he was excited.

"You have your sticks, right?" David asked as they came to a stop at Blink's garage. Race smirked. "Right, you always have your sticks."

"I'm the stick MASTER," Race said in a hissy voice, and Mush and David snorted as they got out of the van.

Mush, as expected, walked over to Blink and greeted him with a kiss. "We brought the prodigy."

"Beer?" Jack said from his spot on the couch, chucking out two bottles. Race caught both of them, and glanced at David and Mush. Both shook their heads.

He shrugged and tossed one back, opened the other for himself, and looked around self consciously. He hadn't had a chance to change back out of his uniform, and felt odd wearing it outside of school, and the way everyone was watching him, he felt kind of like an exhibit in a zoo.

"Uh, thanks," he said to Jack, and wanted to demand to know why people were just _staring_ like that, but didn't. Instead he sat down on one of the spare chairs.

"So..." Blink said finally.

"So rumor has it you're a drummer," Dutchy supplied. Race glanced at him again and this time noticed that, almost like Spot, he looked too skinny for his own good; unlike Spot, his clothes didn't seem to fit quite right. They hung off him like he'd lost the weight too recently to have gone shopping for new, better fitted clothing. But Race just assumed that he didn't shop that often, or couldn't afford to, and didn't think anything of it.

"Rumor has it right," Race replied, taking a sip of beer. He caught eyes with Spot, who was sitting next to Jack on the couch. Spot shot him a cocky grin.

__

"Buon Giorno, Midgeto."

"Good afternoon, ya skinny asshole."

Spot looked around at the others, expecting someone to jump to his defense. No one did. "You kind of asked for that one," Jack said.

"On topic, please," Blink snapped, and gave Race a serious look. "Are you any good?"

Mush smiled. "He's-"

"I'm not bad."

Blink and Dutchy's eyes met, as if considering whether they should actually let Race do this or not, until finally...

"Can you just show us a bit of what you can do?" Itey asked. He seemed oblivious to the odd looks he was getting from Dutchy, Blink, Jack and especially Spot.

Race had to smile. So, Itey wasn't so bad. He was kind of nice. In a shy, bass-player sort of way.

"I guess I could."

"Well Jesus, don't keep us in suspense," Spot snapped, sulky because he hadn't gotten more of a reaction from Race and he'd actually startled his teachers by going to the library to look up the Italian. "You don't fake modesty well."

"Modesty's a three syllable word. I'm impressed," Race answered, feeling a bit more on his game suddenly, as he reached into his bag and found his sticks.

"He's right," Blink muttered.

"Yeah, well, maybe there's a reason I'm not so modest about the drums," Race snapped back.

"Then let's see what you got, hotshot," Blink scoffed.

"Awright." Race smirked, stood, and took his place behind the dusty drumset.

He wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything. After all, he had to deal with a pretty crappy drumset in the school band, too. For such a rich place, they really just went for the worst brand names.

"You guys got headphones?" Race asked, glancing around. They all stood still. "Well come _on_. It's _loud."_

"Here," Itey said, grabbing a pair that were in a dusty heap on the floor. "Bruce threw them at Dutchy when he left." Dutchy glared at Itey. "Well, he _did_."

Race put the headphones on, twirling the sticks on his fingers. He glanced up at Mush and David. They both nodded. He started with three bass hits with the foot pedal, and then lifted the sticks.

And then, as always, he slid into the rhythm. He played for three minutes without stopping, concentrating on what he was doing with enough intensity that he was oblivious to the other boys in the garage. Not even the fact that Spot was staring at him had any effect, because he just plain didn't notice.

Which was just as well, because the naked lust in Spot's stare would probably have thrown him off, and he _hated_ it when something threw him off while he was drumming.

He didn't think it was the best thing he'd ever played, and was mentally berating himself for doing such a weak job in front of people who really wanted him to screw up, but when he looked up he slowly began to smirk. Every eye in the place was fixed on him, and while Itey was smiling, and Dutchy and Jack looked mildly shocked, Blink was actually gaping. He didn't bother to look at Spot.

As Race took off the headphones, David broke the silence by sticking out his right hand at Blink and clearing his throat. "_Ahem_...I do believe you owe me ten dollars."

Blink took the money out of his pocket, stuffed it into David's hand, and continued gaping at Race. Itey hurried towards the drums, still smiling.

"Wow...that was..._amazing_. Where... where did you learn to play like that?"

Race smiled, actually smiled. He didn't do that too often. "Well, you know. I've been doing it for a long time."

"That was pretty fuckin' awesome," Jack agreed, also coming towards the set. "How long exactly have you been playing?"

"I dunno. Second or third grade... Went right for them in elementary school band, made my parents crazy with the noise but..." He shrugged, and it wasn't false modesty or anything, it was genuine pleasure. "I kinda like it."

"Yeah, it shows," Itey marveled. He glanced back at his band mates. "So should we... You know, talk about it?"

No one responded, but Race rolled his eyes and stood up. "Yeah, you guys do that. I'll be outside so I can't hear you talking about me." He set the headphones down and walked out, sticks still in hand.

He marched over to Mush's van, with a sort of spring in his step. It made him almost giddy, kind of like he was a little kid, whenever people took notice of him. Well, notice in a _good_ way.

"Nice skip there, _Midgito."_

Fuck.

Spot really wanted to ruin his life. Race turned around, a glare in set, but was surprised with the look he saw on Spot's face. He looked like...

Dare he say it?

"You thought I was _good_," Race said with disbelief. "You can't find a way to insult me!"

"I could find _many_ ways to insult you," Spot shot back. "Drumming just ain't one of them, I guess."

"Well, at least I know what I'm good at," Race answered.

"Yeah, so you can make people go deaf. Way to go."

"Shouldn't you be in there?" Race demanded. "I'm surprised you missed a chance to call me an asshole behind my back."

"Hey," Spot said defensively. "I don't have to do it behind your back. You _are_ an asshole."

Race shrugged.

"And anyway, you know if they let you in the band, it'll _just_ be because you can play. They don't _like_ you," Spot continued.

Race was glad he'd had practice hiding what he was thinking with his father, because it meant he didn't respond visibly to Spot's comment. Spot was right, and he knew it, but it had still felt good for that minute, when it looked like maybe all of David's friends didn't hate him.

Instead he answered, "Your accent was shit, by the way."

Spot's face fell. Race knew now, that Spot was really trying to get to him. Get a reaction. But Race was a master at hiding emotional reactions. "My accent was _brilliant_."

"'Boo-won Jer-noh'," Race repeated, his voice coming out very Swedish sounding. "It was an insult to my _beautiful_ language."

"YOU'RE an insult to your beautiful language."

Race opened his mouth, and then closed it. "That was a good come-back."

"Thank you."

"So here's my thing," Race said after a short pause. "I know why _I_ act like a dick. Why the hell do you?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "Awww, does the spoiled rich kid wanna bond with us poor boys?"

"Not really. Just figured that _if_ I end up in the band, I'm gonna have to put up with you a lot, and I'm a lot less likely to beat your skull in if there's a reason why you're a jerk."

"Beat my skull in?" Spot laughed. "I could take you with one hand tied behind my back."

"Really." About the only thing Spot seemed to have on him was the advantage of height, but Race was certain he weighed more than the seemingly anorexic Spot, and that a lot of his weight was muscle. "Yeah, if you say so."

"Don't try me," Spot snapped.

"Come on, you want me?" Race opened his arms. There was a silence, and then Spot smirked. In what was clearly a very sexual manner. And Race suddenly looked very scared.

"Well, hey, if you _insist."_

"Hey," Race snapped._ "THAT_ isn't funny!!"

"It's hilarious."

"What is _wrong_ with you? Are you like... some form of... anorexic, girly faced ALIEN?" 

Race really wished he hadn't said something so stupid, because Spot started laughing. Specifically, Spot started laughing at _him_. 

"Uptight about being straight, huh?" Spot managed between laughs. "Too fuckin' funny. How the hell can you even be friends with that Mush guy?"

Race glared at him and was very tempted to try and hurt him. But he didn't. Instead he twirled the drumstick between two fingers, and said as coolly as he could manage, "I'd impale you with this, but it's too good for you."

"Oh, that hurts, really," Spot mocked, grinning ear to ear. "At least if you stick around you can keep me laughing..."

"Yeah, it must be nice to be so easily amused."

Which made Spot stop laughing, which would have made Race smirk, if he hadn't been pretending to be so aloof.

"Oh my GOD!"

Spot and Race jumped a little, and both jerked their heads to look inside the garage. David was staring at them, open mouthed, and Mush was shushing him, jumping up and down with his finger to his lips.

"Ssshhsshshsh!" Mush grabbed David's ear, and pulled him over to the couch, where they started talking really quietly and really fast. Then Itey, Blink, Dutchy and Jack burst out laughing.

Spot and Race shook their heads a little, and then resumed their arguing.

"So, about Mush being super _gay,"_ Spot said again.

"Listen, Mush is my _friend_. Him being gay has nothing to do with anything."  
"So it don't bother you that he and Blink keep playing tonsil hockey, huh?"

"No." Race paused, then amended, "No more than it would if he was making out with a girl."

"What, you got a crush on him or something?"

"No," Race said icily, hoping he could get even a tenth of the effect his father could when he used that tone of voice. "I like _girls._ But. Those two are just irritating."

"Aww, poor _Midgito_ doesn't have a girlfriend to make out with? Feelin' loooonely at night?"

"Not really. You'd be surprised how easy it is to pick up girls when you're," his eyes flashed and he looked over Spot, "smart, attractive, and oh yeah, _rich."_

"Yeah, hookers go for that."

"Which is why your mom just loves to suck me off."

Spot raised his eyebrows. "Oh. We gettin' down to 'your mom' insults now, are we little man?"

Race frowned, leaning forward, staring up at Spot. "I could take you on in _any_ insult war, any _physical_ fight, and any confrontation _period."_

Race expected Spot to snap back with a comeback, but instead Spot leaned his head down slightly, and let a breath escape his lips, trailing on Race's mouth. Race could feel his face heating up, and he didn't say anything.

Then, abruptly, Spot pulled away, smirking. "Not _any_ confrontation, Midget boy."

"That's..." Race trailed off. "That's cheating."

"Aww, you're cute when you're freaked out."

"That's not FUNNY."

"Sure it is. God, are you a homophobe or in denial? 'Cause you get all freaked out, but if you're friends with a fairy like Mush--"

"Who're you calling a fairy, Mister I Just Almost Kissed A Boy?"

Which made Spot laugh again. "Man, you've gotta work on your comebacks when you're startled, you're not nearly as good as you claim." He stepped in closer to Race. "Though to hear my Mom tell it, you ain't very good at all. Kinda lacking in that area, huh? Brings a new meaning to Midget Boy."

And Race probably would have punched his lights out, but Mush yelled from the garage door that they could come back in. And Race couldn't help himself; as he walked past Spot, he shoved the skinnier boy hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps, then stomped the rest of the way up the drive.

As Spot walked in after him, Jack mumbled to his foster brother, "Tough little bugger, isn't he?"

"Fuck you," Spot sneered. Race stood kind of shyly (which was only noticed by David and Mush, who knew him so well) in front of Dutchy, Itey and Blink.

"So." Blink clapped his hands together. It was the first gay-looking gesture (besides making out with Mush) that Race had seen him do. God, where was his camera? They grew up so fast these days. "We talked."

"And you're amazing," Itey said.

"Shut up, Itey," Dutchy snapped, but sounding good-natured. "And it's no lie that your drumming is so hot you could put the set on fire, throw in some magic dust and make a witch's bonfire."

Everyone blinked.

"And we're uh..." Blink cleared his throat to continue. "And we're prepared to let you in. If _you_ are."

Race bit his tongue. It was Blink's way of saying 'we have to get along or you're out.'

Race thought about it for a long minute. Yes, he wanted to play; he wanted to play in a band so badly it was killing him. The school jazz band just wasn't enough for him, not when drumming was about the only thing that made him feel truly _good._ But it would really get his father angry...

He paused on that thought. He'd be practicing with David's friends, in this garage, almost every day. Yeah, _that_ would set his father off. But his father approved of Race's doing activities outside of school; he figured it would help keep Race "on the right track." So he'd be almost forced to let Race do it, and he'd hate that.

And getting away with something that would anger his father was _definitely_ worth something.

On the other hand, while he was certain he could keep his smart mouth in check with most of the people he'd met, Spot would be something of a problem...

"Well," he said. "I'm willing to be on my best behavior, but I don't have to get along with _that_ asshole, do I?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards Spot.

"No one gets along with Spot," Jack said.

"Fuck you, Jacky boy."

"Yeah, you'd like to, Spot," Jack answered easily, which cleared up one more of Race's questions. Either Spot was gay or... No, Spot was pretty much just gay.

"Great!" Blink grinned. "So, we got a drummer!"

"Hey hey." Race raised his hand. "I didn't _agree_ yet." Blink and Dutchy snorted and rolled their eyes, but Itey just smiled.

"Well, we can all play together first before you say anything."

Race winked at Itey. "I _like_ you."

Itey smiled and looked down at his feet.

"So, we've just been working on some cover songs. You know, waiting to have a drummer to do anything original," Blink said. "So... I guess, unless you actually know any Sloan, if you can handle Def Leppard..."

But then he noticed Mush was choking on his bottled water. "What?"

"Sorry. You just asked Tony if he knows Sloan and that's like... that's like asking the Comic Book Guy if he knows Batman, you know?"

"He's a total fanboy," David translated.

"Yeah, well, you would be too if you had any musical taste," Race snapped at David. "But no, _you_ listen to freaking Abba--"

"Shut up, Tony."

"Oh my god, I've known you since I was two and I never knew you listened to _Abba," _Jack snorted. "What a loser!"

"SO." Race jumped to David's rescue. Needling David was _his_ job after all. "What have ya got for me?"

Itey and Dutchy started tuning their guitars, and Dutchy looked up sharply from what he was doing and glared at Itey. "Shut up," he snapped.

"Sorry," Itey apologized and paused, waiting for Dutchy to finish tuning before he started again.

Dutchy gave him a strange look. "Wait, didn't you—" He stopped. "Nevermind."

"You okay?" Itey asked. Dutchy nodded, shrugged, and went back to tuning; he finished and Itey went back to work.

"You know _She Says What She Means?"_ Blink asked when they'd finished.

Race twirled his drumsticks between his fingers. "I know it."

Blink clapped his hands again. He really _was_ quite gay if you looked in the right places. Once again, ignoring the Mush frenching thing.

Race stretched his fingers, cracked his knuckles and sat on the stool behind the drumset, tapping his sticks against the rim of the snare, the way some people impatiently tapped their fingers. Blink shot him a quick glare, and he stopped.

And finally, it seemed that everyone was ready to go. "You want to count us in?" Blink asked. Race nodded, took a deep breath, and hoped for the best. "One, two," he started sharply, and finished the count with clicks of his sticks.

Race knew the song so well, that it was almost like whistling the tune to 'happy birthday'. One of his favorite pastimes was Sloan, thus the songs seemed to come naturally to him now.

He noted that Dutchy was a good guitarist, but he had a tendency to pick up too much speed, as if he was distracted or his mind wandered all over the place. Itey, as a bassist, was too modest--he had to let go.

However, Blink was _born_ to sing for a rock band. And Race fully understood the look of ecstasy on Mush's face.

For a moment, his eyes traveled the room, and found that Spot was actually _staring_ at him.

And the look on Spot's face was almost exactly the same as the one on Mush's as Mush watched Blink.

Oh, Race realized. Well, that sort of explained things.

*

"You joined a _what?"_

"A band."

"I heard that, Racetrack, but I believe there was another word inserted into the phrase."

"Oh my god!" Maria squealed, jumping up and down at the kitchen counter. "You joined a garage band? That is _so_ cool!"

Race grinned at Maria and ruffled the twelve year old's hair. "Get back to your salad making," he said.

In his household, they all made dinner together. It was tradition. Race baked the bread, Sophia made the salad dressing and desserts, his mother made the actual _meal_ (linguini, lasagna, or something else terribly ethnic on any given night) and Maria made the salad. Mr. Higgins... well, he poured the wine. He was usually late for dinner anyway. Tonight was one of the rare occasions where he liked to bother Race instead of yelling at people he worked with over the telephone.

"A _garage_ band," his father repeated.

"Well, yeah," Race said. "I mean, there aren't a lot of other kinds looking for high school drummers. And I met the guys a few days ago and they were pretty cool, and I found out they _needed_ a drummer, and..."

"And the school band wasn't enough for you?"

"No, sir. I mean... I mean, I love it, of course. I'd never let any _other_ band distract me from my school music _or_ my homework. And it's right by David's house, and since he's pretty much tutoring me in chem anyway, he said that after rehearsals we can work on it in a study group with the two of us and Mush--Michael."

"This is Duncan _Jacobs?"_ his father asked. Race nodded. "And he lives _where?"_

Race cleared his throat. "David," he corrected. "And, uh...that is, well..."

Then his mother burst by them, with a plate of lasagna in her oven-mitted hands, exclaiming "Move move move, hot plate hot plate!" In Italian over and over again. Their kitchen had three stoves. One of which Race was waiting for the bread to finish, and the other his mother had just used.

"Mama," Sophia said from another part of the counter. "Mama, where's the...oh, never mind." Sophia took the olive oil away from Maria, who was eyeing the ingredients, and poured some in a little dish of vinaigrette she'd prepared.

Race grinned at his mother, who was so damned hilarious when she was cooking, that he jumped when his father flicked his shoulder.

"And Doug Jacobs lives _where?"_

"Down on Sweetheart and Elm." He paused. "And it's _David."_

His father repeated the address, as if comparing it to his mental map, and then said flatly, "No."

"But--"

"No."

"But--"

"What did I say?" his father snapped.

Race sighed. "I know you said no, sir, but this just means a lot to me. I mean, they're really great guys--"

"That is not an area where really great guys live, Anthony."

"They _are,_ though!" he protested, and if he'd stopped to think he'd have wondered where the sudden bout of loyalty to David's friends, who he hadn't really cared for even that afternoon, came from. But if it was the only way to convince his father...

"Yes, well, I'll believe that when I see it."

"That settles it, then," his mother interrupted cheerfully. "Tony, darling, invite your friends over for dinner at the end of the week. Your father and I will meet them ourselves, and _then_ make our decision."

Race almost laughed at the phrase, "our decision," since it was his father's word that counted, but nodded quickly. "Thank you, Mama."

Race's father sighed, and then the oven bell went off. Race put on his oven mitts (they all had personalized oven mitts--Race's had black olive patterns on his) and grabbed the bread paddle, opening up the oven, and slipping the paddle under the loaf.

"Mama!" Maria called from her salad. "Mama, we're out of avocado!"

"How can we be out of avocado?"

"Tony ate some this morning."

"I _didn't._" He had, but, hey. "Listen, if you keep tellin' lies about me, I ain't gonna take ya ta see Lizzie what's her face."

"McGuire!"

"Yeah yeah..."

"But Tony you _have_ to take me, you _promised_ me!" she pouted.

He rolled his eyes and deposited the bread on the counter to cool. "Don't worry, _carina,_ I'll do it."

She grinned. "You're the best brother ever."

Sophia, across the kitchen, snorted.

"Comment, sister darling?"

"Nothing, brother _dear."_

Race rolled his eyes and turned back to Maria, who was his favorite sister of the three. Isabella was in college now, so she couldn't bother him any more; Sophia was a year younger than he was at sixteen, and Maria was only twelve. He supposed it was the larger age difference that made it easier to get along with her; he could be an older brother, not in competition.

Besides, Maria was the only one in this house, besides their mother, who was as short as Race was. And she looked a lot like him too, perhaps another reason they bonded. Sophia on the other hand, was what Race and his father would call 'off-limits' to any boy they didn't like. It was the only thing they agreed on. But at sixteen, Sophia was probably one of the most stunning looking girls in the state.

Race concluded good-looks were in the family genes.

Purely for the fun of being an older brother, Race dipped his finger in Sophia's bowl of vinaigrette and tasted it, giving her a mean smile as she whapped his shoulder.

He laughed, and she responded by grabbing the rolling pin from where he'd left it when he'd finished with it earlier, and threatening him with it. He grinned and reached back on to the counter for some of the loose flour he'd rolled the dough on, and once she'd finished joking with the pin he blew it on to her, which gave her hair a sudden frosty look.

She let out a yelp and grabbed the pin again, but would never actually hit him with it. Instead, she smacked the back of his head with her palm, reached back for a fistful of flour and dumped it down his shirt.

His mother yelled at them in Italian for a minute, kicked all of the children out of the kitchen to go get cleaned up for dinner, and for just a minute, Race felt like he came from a normal family.

*

Maria was so excited, she was practically bouncing.

Well, she _was_ bouncing, which was kind of embarrassing since they were in a movie theatre lobby, standing in line waiting to buy popcorn. Why did he agree to take his sister to this movie? Oh right. He was 'the best brother ever'. Really, Race would do anything for Maria.

"Can I get a large?" Maria asked. Race shot her a look.

"I dunno... a large is pretty big."

"I can eat it."

"Yeah, Godzilla."

"I am not Godzilla!"

"Tony?"

Race glanced up from poking his sister in the stomach, to see Itey standing behind the counter. In a uniform. Looking miserable. He _worked_ there.

"Oh, hey," Race said cheerfully. "And yes, Maria, if you'll stand still for thirty seconds, you can have a large."

"Yay!"

"I'm going to time you, though."

And she made a big show of concentrating on being still while he turned back to Itey. "How are you?"

Itey rolled his eyes. "Fine. You want anything?"

"Popcorn!" Maria squealed.

"That was only ten seconds, Maria."

__

"Tony!"

"Um, that's my sister," he clarified.

"I figured." Itey smiled. "So that was a large popcorn?"

"Yes!"

"Yeah," Race sighed. Well, it made Maria happy, and when Itey rang it up with their two sodas he only did it as a medium.

"So," Race said suddenly. "Listen." Itey blinked, and kind of smiled.

"Listening," he answered.

"My dad has this uh..._thing_, with me having new friends."

"...okay." Itey looked a little amused. "That's _wonderful_ Tony!"

"Ha ha." Race smirked. "But he wanted me to invite the band and you know, Spot and Jack, over to our house. For supper. On Saturday."

Itey looked a little speechless until Maria cut in. _"I_ make the salad."

Itey leaned down a bit. _"Do_ you?" Maria nodded proudly. "Then I guess I'll have to come."

"Cool!" she squeaked.

"Could you maybe, um, ask the other guys? I don't know if I can get to a rehearsal before then, 'cause my dad's kind of..." he looked at Maria, and finished with, "stubborn. And I only have David and Mush's numbers."

"No problem."

"Okay. It's kind of dress nicely, but--"

"_Tony_, we're missing the _movie!"_

"--but not too formal or anything," he tried to finish as Maria began to tug him away by the arm. "Talk to you--Maria, just one second!--later, then. Thanks!"

And Maria pulled him towards the correct theater, having somehow memorized the multiplex's layout, and as they were walking in Race muttered a curse word in Italian under his breath. Because walking out of a different movie were Spot and Jack.

He thought for a second they didn't see him until..."_Midgito!"_

Race winced, and stopped in his tracks, turning his head as Jack and Spot walked up to him. Maria looked ready to whine again until she got a good look at them and turned beat red.

"Hi," Race said tonelessly to Spot, then nodded at Jack. "Hey Jack."

"Hey Tony," Jack said, grinning in a smart ass fashion at Spot, then spotting Maria. "Hey hey, who's the cutie?"

Maria made a squeak noise, and blushed more. Race rolled his eyes. "Maria. My little sister."

"Hi," she said softly, suddenly shy.

"Hey there." Jack waved.

Race started to introduce Jack and Spot to his little sister, but Spot interrupted, "You're going to see Lizzie McGuire?" and started laughing. Maria gave Race a questioning look, and he rolled his eyes.

__

"She's going to see it, _I'm_ going because..."

"Yeah?"

"Because she's only twelve, _someone_ had to go with her, and unlike _some_ people, I'm not a total jerk."

"Oh _yeah--"_ Spot started, but Jack cut him off.

"You got any other sisters, Tony?"

Race narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Two."

"Sophia and Izzy!" Maria bubbled out. "Sophia's almost Tony's age. And Izzy goes to college and studies something really stupid and boring."

"Well, I bet when _you_ go to college, you won't study something stupid and boring." Jack flashed a smile. Race began to see the essence of a ladies' man slip through.

"Of _course_ not," Maria said. Spot was still watching Race with an amused look.

"You the brotherly type?" Spot scoffed. Maria, picking up on Spot's cynicism, grabbed Race's arm tightly and protectively.

"He's the greatest brother," she said, and glared. "_Ever."_

Race ruffled her hair fondly, and didn't even have to say anything to Spot, who rolled his eyes. Then the noise of previews started inside the theater, and Maria let out a little eep. "Come _on,_ Tony! We're missing the _movie!"_

"And you wouldn't want to do that," Spot added.

"Yeah." He paused, then said to Maria, "Why don't you go get us seats, kiddo? I'm gonna just talk to Jack and Spot for a second, I'll be right in, okay?"

She hesitated as she took the bag of popcorn from his hands. "How will you find me in the dark?"

"You could always yell my name."

"Okay!" she decided and bounded off before he could explain that he was kidding. He shrugged and let her go.

Jack was smiling at him. "She's energetic."

"You're telling me," Race answered.

"So... the other sister... Sophia, was it?"

"No."

"Just _curious."_ Jack shrugged, sipping on his pop. He glanced at Spot. "What's eating you?"

"You wish you were."

Race made a disgusted face. "Anyway, I need to ask you two something."

"Yeah?"

"Just--my dad is pretty annoyed that I'm in the band, and he's trying to find a reason not to let me. So he and my mom decided--look, if they can _meet_ all of you, and you can make a half-way decent impression..."

"Sure," Jack agreed. "When?"

"Saturday, dinner at my house. But, um, I should warn you that my dad is kind of... Not..."

"Yeah?" Spot challenged. "Your dad is _what,_ Tony?"

"Never mind," he snapped. "But will you two come?" Jack nodded, and Spot just smirked. He sized Spot up, remembered the look on Spot's face while he'd been playing and added, "Gee, Spot, you don't want more time to stare at me?"

"Shut up, Midget Boy."

Jack rolled his eyes and elbowed Spot. "We'll come."

"Thanks. It's kind of formal dress." He gave Spot a disgusted look. "If you actually _own_ anything formal."

"I'll show up naked," Spot answered. "See how your mom likes it."

"Would you two _stop?"_ Jack whined, then composed himself. "So, this Sophia, she got a boyfriend?"

"Jack, never, ever, will that happen," Race answered. "And what about you and Sarah?"

"We'll be back together in two weeks at most."

"Oh."

"Better get back to your movie," Spot said. "Don't want to miss any of that hot, young, fourteen year old Hilary Duff ass!"

"She's got a nicer ass than you do, Skinny," Race answered, nodded goodbye to Jack, and walked off into the theater. He couldn't see the annoyed look on Spot's face as he left, but somehow was certain it was there anyway.

*

Funkie: Okay, Race drumming is like orgasm with a beat. I've concluded that Spot is a lucky SOB.

B: And Race cooking? Hot_ damn,_ I'm jealous of Spot.

F: Also, the lasagna that Mrs. Higgins made? Yeah, I had that for dinner last night. It was delicious.

B: Where as I have set out on an exciting foray of "living on my own and cooking for myself." Which means that anyone who chooses to come and cook for me gets brownie points.

F: I can make you popcorn.

B: Ooooh! Anyway, tune in next time for the Big Family Dinner of Dooooooooom. (Add your own ominous thunderclaps... _here.)_

NOTE: Little Drummer Boy Race available to play charity events, weddings and bar mitzvas; cheap rates when booked four to six months in advance.

F: Too bad he wasn't at the Bar Mitzvah I went to last Saturday...that was _8 HOURS LONG._

This chapter celebrated with mac'n'cheese, because it's the only thing B can cook.

Shoutouts!

****

Rumor

F: Indeed, two chappys at the same time is a lot like two plums at the same time. Delicious, and currently being consumed by me.

B: Damn you, I'm hungry!! I mean, um, I love you, Rumor.

F: The action figure is yours!! *tada*

****

Hotshot

B: First off, we LOVE you for this review. Long reviews = very inspiring.

F: Secondly, your very good questions about Race's distaste for his nickname shall be answered...later. *twilight zone music* OOOH, suspense!!

B: Hmm. It's not just that Italian was his first language; his parents also speak it at home a lot and insist that their children are fluent.

F: Race has a very Italian family. In a lot of ways. Including Emeril!Race, who bakes bread. Now you see how Race knocks the socks off of Blink and his boys because Drummer!Race is like some sort of hot, Italian God.

As for Spot/Race, well... Heh. Just, heh.

F: Spot and Race? BAH. Never happen. *wink wink*

****

Stage

F: Yes. I did set it on fire. To be fair, it was the third time in my life that I've set a meal on fire. I'm getting better, really.

B: Lucky you. I'm just learning to set things on fire now.

F: I suggest being an idiot. It works wonders for me.

B: I'll try that. But anyhoo, Stage, Race is absolutely the most fun a little bitch can be.

F: You want more Stage-baby? Well well, you GET more. Because you said the magic word: Race

****

Shadowlands

B: Anything we do to warm you up to Blink/Mush is worth the effort. Because Blink/Mush is just yummy.

F: And, Aah, Spot ad Race. They'd argue about the color of the sky.

Spot: It's BLUE.

Race: It's baby blue you fucker!

It's sweet really. 

And sorry my Italian bites. But hey, I'm learning!

****

Lee

F: Yes, it is fun to write with B. She is so damned wonderful and glomp worthy.

B: Awww. And I love working with Funkie, whose Spot/Race is about the best there is out there.

F: *glomp* I read her everyday! Oh, and we have fun with Bitch!Race. Really, he's just so fun to torture.

B: And glad you liked the Italian. That was aaaaaaaall Funkie. But I'm still glad.

****

Holiday

F: Yay!! Holiday came to the party! Mush and Blink are so damned perfect for each other. Good Old Mushee is such a doll.

B: And Blink is just, you know, faaaabulous. And sexy. And a god. And it's possibly I'm too much of a Blink fangirl...

F: There's never too much when it comes to Blink.

B: Fair enough. Anyway, agreed on he BLAH to school; it takes away from Fanfiction Fun Time.

****

Seraph the Second (and the Best)

F: Really, I don't think anyone in high school does their _own_ homework. Especially not the almighty brat!Race

B: I definitely didn't. Would have failed calc if my best friend wasn't a math wiz.

F: Math bites. Mush and Blink? They rock. David is wonderful--he is not naive, nor jerky! He's a sweet little doll. I love him.

B: Me too. I watched the movie a few nights ago and by the end actually found him _attractive._ That had never happened before. But I do kind of *heart* David.

F: He _is_ attractive, damnit!!!

B: But he looks just like all the boys I know, and that makes it creepy!!

F: I know a guy who looks like Christian Bale. Exactly.

B: I'm jealous.

F: Of course you are. And Spot backstory? We're ON IT.

B: We're on it like alcoholicBlink!muse on a keg. Or something!

****

Aquachica

F: Dude...B, someone loves Mush/Blink as much as you.

B: Aaaaaah! Yay! I'm not alone!!

F: Fluff is WONDERFUL as are Mush/Blink. Hey, I totally melted when we started putting in the Blink/Mush in part 2. Took me hours to recover.

B: Where as I reveled in it.

****

Kellyanne

F: Cute asshole! HAH. Now I totally know what to call so many of my friends! Thank _you_ baby-cakes.

B:Thank you so much. Mush is very adorable. :D

****

Gothic Author

B: Thanks for the compliment. It's probably wrong to drool at our own works, but man. Race _is_ hot.

F: God, he should be illegal. Shirtless!Mush!! He seems to be appearing all over the place now. I think he's becoming the next trend. You don't have a Megatunes?? Then no worries--Naked, Autographed, Drummer Race will be delivered to you by an equally naked Spot.

B: Lucky you. And don't worry, the Sprace cake is baking!

F: Ooooh is it baking.

****

Shot Hunter

F: Race is just such a musical little sexy bitch.

B: Singer!Race is also fun. I'm not sure our Race sings, but singing!Race is also very droolworthy.

F: Our Race can sing in the shower. Because our Race can do anything in the shower. Just as long as he's in there. Naked. 

B: Preferably with Spot.

F: Who should also be naked.

B: Wow, _I_ need a cold shower now.

****

Thistle

F: Racetrack... Italian... mmm... Can anyone say 'Orgasmic'?

B: We also take perverse pleasure in the drug tests and generally being terrible to Race. That's his punishment for being so... him.

F: Spot is slowly turning into a mystery man. It's sexy. Race wants it. He doesn't know it though...because it's a _mystery._

B: Though he's definitely a bitch.

F: A _hot_ bitch.

****

Leah

B: Are you still reading? Go cook me dinner! ;D

F: Leah, this is for your luscious self.

__

Until next time, kiddies! Stay in school and stay off drugs!

unlike the kids in the story.


	4. Dining In

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

Come together like a foot in a shoe 

Only this time I think I stuck my foot in my mouth 

Thinking out loud and acting in vain 

Knocking over anyone that stands in my way 

Sometimes I need to apologize 

Sometimes I need to admit that I ain't right 

Sometimes I should just keep my mouth shut or only say hello 

Sometimes I still feel I'm walking alone 

Walk on eggshells on my old stomping ground 

Yet there's really no one left 

That's hanging around 

Isn't that another familiar face? 

Too drunk to figure out they're fading away

-Green Day, _Walking Alone_

**__**

Chapter Four: Dining In

Race stared nervously at the clock. They were going to be here in the next fifteen minutes, strategically maneuvered by Maria so they could make sure they saw him and the family actually _making_ the dinner. Which made Race more nervous, not that he would admit it. His father was late, and Race didn't know if this would be good or bad. Over all, he was seriously regretting the entire thing.

But then, it wasn't like he was offered much of a choice. At least they'd agreed to come, which still surprised him, as his friendship with the band members and their friends was shaky, at best.

As though she could sense his nerves and wanted to calm him down, Sophia decided that it would be a good idea to start up their ongoing foodfight again.

Race growled at her. "HEY. _Brat,"_ he snapped, and attacked back with a hand full of whipped cream, which had been freshly whipped by Sophia moments before. He pushed it into her shirt with a splat, and Sophia shrieked.

"You _jerk!"_

"I love you too."

"Sophia!" His mother called. "Oh, Tony, _really_. Sophia, _rosetta_, go change."

"But-"

"NOW."

And his friends, being the wonderful people they were, decided it would be a good idea to arrive early, and chose that moment to ring the doorbell.

"Anthony!" his mother half-yelled. "Go let your friends in! Maria and I will finish in here!"

So, side by side with Sophia and with a few dollops of tomato seeds on his shirt, he went to get the door. Sophia started to disappear up the stairs, then hesitated while he opened it and the group crowded in. The three band members, plus Jack and Spot, and then plus Mush and David.

And it seemed that at the same moment, Jack and Itey saw Sophia, who blushed and dashed up the stairs.

They stared, open mouthed. "Who was _that?"_ Jack asked, a grin sliding across his face. Itey didn't say anything. He was still staring at the spot Sophia had just been standing.

Race didn't answer Jack, instead he raised his eyebrows, a threatening look appearing instantly. "_Why?"_

"This place is fucking huge," Spot broke in, and Race's attention was diverted to him.

"Don't swear, Maria's in the next room!"

"Like she can hear me! You need a megaphone to talk to someone in the next room anyway."

Race gave his friends a critical look, and given the fact that he had still had tomato all over his shirt, they looked better than he did. Sort of. Mush and David were dressed very nicely, but then, they'd had dinner at his house before. He almost laughed at Blink, whose idea of dressing up mostly consisted of Gap apparel, but he did look pretty nice in casual clothes. (Apparently, Mush agreed, judging by the fact that Mush was hanging on him. But then, Mush pretty much hung on him whenever they were in a room together.) Dutchy cleaned up nicely and managed not to look like he played grunge rock, Jack had ditched the T-shirt and jeans for a less worn out pair of cords and a button up shirt, which Race supposed was _like_ dressing up, and Itey had gone so far as to wear a tie.

Almost nervously, Race turned his gaze to Spot.

For some reason, Race's face went hot. He'd expected Spot to show up looking like hell, to be frank. Maybe even go so far as to wear one of his 'fuck you' t-shirts that he was sporting in all of David's photos. But no. Spot was wearing black, kind of shabby, dress pants and a tight, light green-blue striped Sloan-esque polo shirt. He was also donning a spiked necklace.

Race was once again reminded that Spot may have been skinny, but he was gorgeous.

"Yeah," Race said distractedly, then pulled his gaze away from Spot. "Yeah, I guess it is pretty big."

"Big?" Dutchy mocked. "The place is a fucking _mansion."_

"Seriously, knock off the cursing, would you? My sister is only twelve, and my _mother..."_

"What the fuck, your mother can't fucking handle the fucking f-word?" Spot asked.

Race glared and would have answered, but David elbowed him hard in the side. "No, she can't," David said. "So knock it off, okay?"

Race gave him a grateful look. David had met his mother before, and though she was startled to discover he was one of Race's good friends, she actually approved of him. After all, he was also Race's unofficial tutor.

"Dad is late, but, I'm still cooking so--"

"You _cook_?!" Spot exclaimed, then snorted. "God, it's like my freaking birthday came early. Can I _watch_?"

Race was starting to get really nervous. "I... _guess."_

"Sweet!" Blink exclaimed, and Dutchy added "Wear an apron, god, that would be even _better."_

Mush smiled from his spot on Blink's arm. "He has his own oven mitts."

"You _have your own oven mitts."_ Spot was enjoying this way too much. Race just tried to ignore him, and noted that Jack and Itey were still acting fairly dazed.

He waved his hand in front of Itey's face, as Itey was the closer of the two, and rolled his eyes. "Hey, you two bums. Snap out of it; she's my sister, and strictly off limits. Unless you want to see what an enraged Italian father looks like."

__

"Just the father, Tony?" Mush laughed.

Race shrugged. "...And an enraged older brother," he admitted.

"After all, he _is_ the Best Brother Ever," Spot mocked, and Race glared at him for a second.

"Kitchen's this way," he finally said, and lead the way back to where his mother and Maria were still cooking.

"Tony!" his mother exclaimed. "It's about time, watch the bread, watch the bread!" She said this in Italian, and then turned on a charming smile to the boys. "_Ciao!"_ she greeted. "Tony, introduce me."

"But you just said--"

"Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Jack Kelly." Jack had turned on such an over-dose of charm that it was almost like he was meeting his in-laws.

Race made a face, thinking, _Oh, _great.

"Oh." Race's mother blushed. "Hello, Jack Kelly." His mother _blushed_ for Christ's sake.

Jack seemed to have decided to take care of the introductions, so Race hurried to the oven where his bread was scarily close to burning, and listened while he donned his oven mitts and pulled it out.

"And this is my good friend, Sean Conlon," he continued, and Race realized he had no idea what anyone's _actual_ names were, so maybe it was just as well that Jack was introducing them, "and that's Ryan Ballatt, Gabriel Lopez, and--"

"Dutchy," Dutchy interrupted.

"Dutchy?" Race's mother questioned.

"Yeah."

And Race could almost hear Jack's grinning to gloss that over. "And I think you've met David and Michael, right?"

"Of course."

"And may I just say, it's very kind of you to invite us to your lovely home, ma'am."

"Oh, well, we always want to meet our Anthony's friends." Race's mother smiled, waving her hand. Right, Race didn't bring up the fact his mother was still a snob, no matter how cute and Italian she was. Hopefully, Jack's charm would dazzle all the prejudice out of her.

"Mama," Race said. "Mama, your oven's bell went off."

"Oh!" His mother pushed by Race. "Thank you, dear."

Maria was staring at Jack again, her face very red. "Jack, do you have a girlfriend?" Maria asked boldly, and Race glared down at her.

__

"Carina!" Race snapped. Jack laughed.

"Nah, you're my number one girl."

"Shoot me," Spot said bluntly.

Again, Race started to reply, but was beat to the punch. "Behave yourself," Blink hissed in Spot's ear, and it slowly dawned on Race that Spot must have been lectured, or warned, or otherwise threatened into attempting to make a good impression. Or at least that the other guys were going to take care of him if he wasn't. The thought was uplifting, and Race remembered that they hadn't all seen Maria at the theater.

"Oh, and that's Maria," he said aloud, gesturing slightly with a hand still covered by an oven mitt.

Itey shot a look at Jack, then grinned at the twelve year old. "It's very nice to meet you again," he said seriously, stepped forward, took her hand and kissed the back of it gallantly. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks turned red, and when Race glanced over at his mother, she was actually smiling.

So maybe the night wouldn't be a total disaster.

"Is your sister still changing?" Race's mother asked as she took the food out of the oven and placed it on the counter. Race nodded. "Tell her to hurry, and Maria, set the table."

Maria nodded, looking a little starry-eyed at Itey and Jack.

"You boys, go ahead and take your seats." Race's mother whapped each of them with her oven mitt, and they hurried by her to the dining room.

"You coming?" Dutchy asked Race.

"I have to wait for my bread to cool," Race snapped. "It's _my_ bread."

Dutchy rolled his eyes and took a seat next to Spot. Mrs. Higgins came up next to Race and smiled.

"They seem very... Nice," she said quietly. "And you ought to change your shirt before dinner."

He nodded and his mother headed into the dining room, and Race was almost afraid to leave her alone with his friends, but figured there was nothing _too_ bad they could do. She already liked Mush and David, and seemed to have taken a liking to Jack and Itey. Dutchy and Blink seemed content to stay fairly quiet, and the only person that left as a problem was Spot, who'd be a problem whether he was in the room or not.

Testing the bread once more showed it was still too hot, so he decided it was worth dashing up to change his shirt, and on the way he ran into Sophia. She'd changed entirely and he noted, none to thrilled, she was dressed not as she would for a family dinner, but the way she would have for a date.

"What is _that?"_ Race snapped. Sophia blinked, and looked down at herself.

"A dress."

"A _red_ dress."

"So?"

"So you aren't wearing that, go change."

Sophia put her hands on her hips. "Soak your head," she snapped, and continued down the stairs. Race would be damned if he was going to let her into that dining room without him, so he grabbed her arm, and pulled her up the stairs. "Hey!" she said. "Let go!"

"If you're wearing _that,_ you're damned well going to be supervised by me every single second," Race said, stepping into his room, pulling her in with him.

"Tony, please, I'm not a little girl."

"_Exactly,_" he snapped. "Where's my button up beige shirt..." He looked around, and saw Sophia holding it up between her fingers. "Ah. Thanks."

Sophia was silent as she turned away and Race changed his shirt, then, "So...what's his name?"

Race snorted. "Jack. And he's not your type."

"Jack? The Spanish one?"

It was a good thing Race wasn't drinking anything, because he'd have choked on it or spat it out. "No. No, the Spanish one is..." He trailed off, trying to remember Itey's real name. "Gabriel."

"And is _he_ my type, _fratello_?"

"Absolutely not."

She laughed, and opened the door for him, and they walked down and into the dining room side by side. And he really didn't like how the eyes of all of the boys in the room--or at least, all of the straight ones--traveled up and down her body as soon as Sophia stepped into sight. But at least she had the good sense to be more interested in Itey than Jack, as Itey didn't have a girlfriend, and seemed far more harmless.

Jack was giving Sophia his best grin, but she took the empty seat next to Itey, blushing slightly.

The look on Jack's face was priceless.

Race, seeing that the only empty spots left were in between David and Spot, and his father's chair at the head of the table, reluctantly sat down next to Spot. Or rather, in between David and Spot.

"Your sister's hot," Spot mumbled to him.

"Shut up." Pause. "Aren't you gay?"

"She's the closest a chick could get to ever turning me straight."

Race just told him to shut up again.

Which suddenly brought up another potential problem in Race's mind; his father had always somewhat frowned on Mush's presence, just because he suspected Mush was gay. His mother didn't mind so much because Mush was a nice kid, but if his father saw Mush and Blink holding hands they way they were currently doing under the table...

Maybe he'd get lucky and his father would be so tied up with work that he wouldn't be able to make it.

"Maria, why don't you go get the salad and the bread so we can start the meal? Your father said he didn't mind if we started with out him."

"Why do _I_ have to?" she sulked.

"'Cause you're the youngest, squirt," Race answered. She stuck her tongue out at him, but disappeared into the kitchen to do as asked.

"So, Mrs. Higgins," Spot said suddenly, and all the boys snapped their heads to peer at Spot. "Tell me, has Anthony always been such a delight?"

Mrs. Higgins seemed to take the question seriously. "Oh well, he's a nice boy. When he's a _good_ boy." She gave Race one of her Italian mother looks. "I do hope he's being nice to you boys. He doesn't often have people over."

"Mama--" Race started.

"Yes, Mama," Sophia interrupted, "he can't help that he's a loser; I'm _sure_ he's being nice."

"Brat," Race muttered at her, and she smiled back.

"Sophia, apologize to your brother," his mother scolded.

She rolled her eyes, muttered a quick, "Sorry, Tony," as insincerely as humanly possibly, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

Jack was very nearly drooling. Race scowled, but Jack was saved from his date with an enraged older brother by Maria returning to the room, the bread and the salad carefully balanced in her arms.

"Awww, honey, you _baked,"_ Spot said, fluttering his eye lashes at Race.

"I bake _every_ night," Race said, then lowered his voice. "You just wish I baked for _you."_

"An' what does that mean?"

"Nothing."

Race was too busy watching Sophia, Jack and Itey to be concerned with Spot anymore. Sophia, who was usually uncomfortable with how beautiful she was, suddenly seemed very confidant indeed. But he couldn't help but notice that, though he had seen many a male look at Sophia, none of them had looked at her quite like Itey did.

"So, what do you play?" Sophia asked softly. Itey blinked.

"Play?"

"In the band."

"Oh. OH! The band, yeah, of course, uh..." He seemed to have forgotten he was _in_ a band. "I play the, uh..."

"The bass," Dutchy supplied, looking amused. Race was relieved that at least Dutchy wasn't hitting on her, and he was straight as far as Race knew. Though he had definitely checked her out... Well, he wasn't hitting on her, and that was what counted.

"Yeah, bass," Itey agreed, blushing.

"And do you play anything, Miss Higgins?" Jack asked, clearly annoyed that Itey was getting attention from her. "I'll bet you sing--I bet you have a _great_ voice."

"Tone deaf," she answered flatly. "How long have you been playing?"

Race began to relax. If nothing else, her attention to Itey was going to infuriate Jack, which would be fun to watch. He was almost enjoying watching his friends pass around the salad, until he heard the sound of the front door open.

His father was home.

__

Shit.

Spot poked at his food slightly, not hungry. He didn't eat much anyway, thus his attention was slightly waning, and he couldn't stop himself from sneaking glances at Race's slightly opened button down shirt...Damn it. Why did such a prick have to be so hot and Italian? Granted, Spot never had trouble being a jackass to people, so it wasn't like Race had anything over him.

Spot bit into the bread that Race had made, and almost moaned. Dear God... it was _good_. Fuck him, he could cook bread. Spot glanced up to mention something (namely, a smart ass comment about Race being real housewife material) but saw that Race looked as scared as a freaking rabbit.

He realized why quickly; there was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and almost on cue the members of the Higgins family stopped eating, fell silent, and looked up. And then Mr. Higgins stepped into the room.

Spot had to admit the guy looked intimidating; sort of like a more grown up version of Race, if Race had been around six feet tall with broad shoulders, a more square jaw, and was starting to gray at his temples. He was wearing a dark gray business suit that was clearly well tailored and probably cost more than all of the clothing Spot owned put together, and as he stepped into the room, Spot couldn't help but notice that all of the Higgins family members stood.

They freaking _stood up_ when he walked in.

Mush and David had done so as well, without hesitation, and then the others shot looks of confusion to each other. Then Blink hastily stood up as well, and the others followed in awkward alacrity. Spot did not. He sized the man up, staring at him, and then saw Race shoot him a quick look of stern pleading. Mr. Higgins hadn't noticed Spot's lack of respect, and with that opportunity at hand, Jack kicked Spot harshly under the table.

Spot started to glare at Jack, and got glared back at. "Spot," Jack murmured, almost under his breath.

Spot stood. He glanced over at Race, expecting to see him smirk, but Race was too busy watching his father.

"Good evening, dear," Mrs. Higgins said finally, and gestured at the table. "We were just starting."

"I can see that." He paused, and glanced over his children, for the moment ignoring the guests. "Sophia," he said.

"Papa, I--"

Something about the look on his face changed, Spot wasn't even entirely sure what it was--it darkened, maybe his eyebrows lowered a tiny bit, it was almost impossible to put his finger on--and she fell silent. He said something in Italian, she bit her lip and nodded, and left the room without argument.

"Anthony, introduce me to your friends, please." Though it was, quite obviously, not a request. It was an order.

Race cleared his throat, and Spot was taken aback by the sudden upright, and stiff posture Race had formed into. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice low and, oddly, more Italian sounding, even in English.

Race looked around the room, gesturing first to Itey. "This is Gabriel Lopez."

"Good evening."

"G-good evening." Itey's voice wavered slightly. Race moved on, quickly, and Itey looked thankful. "That's Ryan Ballatt."

"Hi sir." Blink cleared his throat.

When Race reached Dutchy, he gave him a warning glare, and Dutchy swallowed loudly.

"Hello, Mr Higgins."

Mr. Higgins raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

Dutchy muttered something.

"_Pardon_?"

Dutchy muttered again.

"Speak _up _boy!"

Something about Mr. Higgins bellow made Dutchy burst out with the name in a high pitched voice.

"Hans Mardoslavic..."

Spot managed not to start laughing, but only because Jack grabbed his arm and he didn't feel like getting Jack pissed at him. He'd never heard Dutchy's real name before, only knew that Dutchy refused to say it, had actually enrolled at their school as Dutchy somehow so not even the attendance sheets could give it away, and was planning to have it legally changed the day he turned eighteen. Spot suddenly understood why.

Mr. Higgins nodded, and Race continued quickly, "You've already met Michael and David; I go to school with them." Another nod. "And this is Jack Kelly."

"Hello, sir."

"Good evening."

"...And Sean Conlon."

Spot had a million ways he could think of to answer, and to his very great surprise found himself echoing Jack, saying a simple, "Hello, sir."

__

Sir? he asked himself. He didn't think he'd ever called anyone sir in his life before. But something about the terrified, pleading look Race had been giving him... He supposed that one lapse into politeness wouldn't ruin his entire reputation.

Mr. Higgins gave Spot an odd look, and no one was surprised. Despite dressing rather nicely (for Spot, and not counting the spiked necklace, which Mr. Higgins had eyed critically), Spot looked horrendously out of place. Spot knew it, but he wouldn't let some old man with a credit card bother him. Just one night of respect for an elder... it wouldn't kill him.

Mr. Higgins picked some of the seafood pasta out of the dish and onto his plate, and took a slice of the olive bread, and sat down. This was a silent indication that they now could help themselves, since the master had been served.

Spot took a bite of the food, and despite it's delicious taste, still could not bring himself to be hungry. Instead, he watched Race, inconspicuously, and suddenly in a whole new light.

Race didn't look like Race. He suddenly looked very small.

"Do you eat?"

Spot didn't know at first that Mr. Higgins was speaking to him until Jack cleared his throat.

"Pardon?" Spot said, his voice low and bordering on defensive.

"Do you _eat?"_

He started to say something insulting about the cooking, and stopped himself, noting for one that what he'd tasted has been delicious, but also that Race had buried his head in one hand, and looked like someone had just run over his dog. Clearly, his father talking to Spot was not a happy situation for him.

"I--" Spot started, suddenly unsure what to say. He was the master of witty comebacks, and the combination of a friend (or whatever the hell Race was) looking miserable, and a six foot tall guy in a suit glaring at him had thrown him off and he choked on the words.

He was saved because Sophia chose that moment to come back into the dining room, and sit down, her ensemble changed into a boring gray turtleneck, and shapeless black pants. She also wasn't smiling. Spot decided at that moment that if somehow the admiration of Itey, Jack and Dutchy, the only three straight guys who hadn't met her before (though Dutchy's straightness was really debatable at best) wasn't enough, he'd ask her to marry him.

Mr. Higgins said something to her in Italian, and she nodded back.

And then, the bastard turned back to Spot. "Well?" he demanded.

"Dad--" Race started, but Mr. Higgins gave an odd sound from the back of his throat. Without the words coming out, Mr. Higgins had told Race to 'shut the hell up'.

Mr. Higgins did not want Race to be around any of them. Spot, being a skinny pretty boy with a spiked necklace, was the easiest target. And, he wasn't eating.

"I don't know what you mean," Spot finally mumbled. Then raised an eyebrow. _"Sir."_

Jack kicked Spot under the table again; Spot kicked him right back. He hadn't done a goddamned thing and already this asshole had hounded on him. Wasn't that the story of Spot's life?

"What do I mean?" Mr. Higgins tone was oddly polite. As if they were talking about Spot's education or his interests or anything besides his eating habits. It almost threw Spot off. So did the suddenly protective look on Race's face. Mr. Higgins continued before Race could say a word.

"It was a simple question, _boy,_ which I have already repeated once. I do not stutter, so unless you're slow, I expect an equally clear answer."

Spot was actually impressed; he'd never heard an insult dressed up to sound so classy before. And it was just enough to make his brain start working again. He'd seen, thanks to Race's incredibly wonderful unbuttoned shirt, that he was wearing a necklace with a small cross hanging from it; in fact, every member of the family seemed to be. They were religious.

"Of course I eat, sir," he said pleasantly. "I just usually say grace beforehand."

Mr. Higgins raised his eyebrows, and said nothing for a moment. Then, Spot tore his eyes away from the huge Italian man, and rested his gaze on Race again.

Race was absolutely _beaming_ at him.

So was everyone else.

"What religion do you practice?" Mr. Higgins said back. Spot had to admit, the guy was good. But Race mouthed out 'Catholic', and Spot would have guessed that anyhow.

"Catholic, sir. Born and raised."

"See, daddy? He was just being polite!" Maria insisted, as she suddenly seemed to have taken to Spot's defense. Probably because Jack had.

"Of course." Race's father's expression didn't change at all, but Spot's skin began to crawl under his continued unwavering scrutiny. "Perhaps you'd care to say grace for us then, Mr. Conlon?"

Spot managed a quick glance at Race, who was clearly trying not to wince visibly.

"Sure," he said, and tacked on a quick, "I'd be honored. Sir." Mr. Higgins gestured for him to start, and he tried to remember what he'd learned in his first foster home, where the folks had been extremely religious and convinced he should have been grateful for it. Mostly, he'd just been grateful to get out of there. But the words had been trained in to him.

He said a very simple, short, but polite grace (in Latin, no less; he'd heard it every night and it had been burned into his memory) and then looked around the table. He was being gaped at. By pretty much everyone, except Mr. Higgins himself, who smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile and it looked unnatural.

"Amen," he said, and it was echoed by everyone else present.

Spot sat down with an arrogant grace, and shot a grin at Mr. Higgins. _Ha. Take _that,_ Fucker Mc.Asshole,_ he thought maliciously in his head. If he couldn't say it, he would sure as hell go nuts in his thoughts.

Mr. Higgins was oddly silent as he ate, and soon everyone went back to their food. Spot was making quite an effort to feign hunger; Blink, however, seemed to be quite content with taking a second helping. But in the politest way possible.

Race was grateful they'd all seemed to naturally know what they could and couldn't do.

But Itey didn't seem to notice he was still in awe of Sophia. And Jack was too sure of himself for his own good. So Race's brief, dash of hope, flickered away once more. Like his father would let people off that easy.

Things might have worked out very differently if his friends had been smart enough to just keep their mouths shut, eat, and pretend that this was somehow normal; but no. Blink, apparently considering himself the leader of the band and thus of the people gathered (Race figured that "leader" was probably somehow Jack's job, though the only one who seemed even vaguely responsible was Itey) decided to attempt to make small talk.

"So, Mr. Higgins," he said hesitantly. "What is it you, um, do?"

"I run a construction company."

Spot opened his mouth to say something about a 'walking Italian stereotype,' and as soon as his mouth opened, Jack kicked him again. He rolled his eyes and decided to save the comment to use on Race later; it was always good to have an arsenal of comments built up.

But Blink had to press the matter. "That sounds very interesting, sir. What exactly does it involve?"

Mr. Higgins looked at Blink like he was a piece of something filthy that had somehow mucked his floor. _"Construction,"_ he snapped.

Poor Blink. He seemed to think that asking Mr. Higgins questions would help his chances of being liked; but Mr. Higgins was an asshole, not a narcissist.

"What do you build?"

Mr. Higgins stopped eating, and Race sighed. That was not a good sign. "Downtown offices; mansions. Places you, young man, probably don't see much of."

Blink looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach, not believing what he'd heard.

"Daddy--" Sophia started, but Race interrupted.

"He was just _asking,_ _sir_," Race said through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Higgins quickly broke into the conversation, talking for the first time since they'd started eating. "Dear, would you like more pasta?"

"No, thank you," Mr. Higgins said, though he kept his gaze on Blink. But he didn't press the matter, thankfully, and Blink returned to eating, looking miserable. Mush looked almost angry for a second, which was shocking in and of itself; Mush pretty much _never_ got angry. But, being Mush, he didn't say anything, and a minute later the smile returned to his face.

Race wondered how it was possible for someone to have so much inner peace. But he didn't wonder for long, because he was far more occupied with wondering what else could go wrong.

"So, how long have you... have you been playing bass?" Sophia said quietly to Itey. Itey jumped slightly, as if not expecting her to continue their conversation any further. Sophia's confidence had gone with the dress. Now she was shy and slightly insecure looking. Like her gray turtleneck sweater.

"Uh... like, eight years," Itey replied, turning red. "Do you play anything?"

Sophia nodded. "Yes, flute."

Itey smiled a little. "I bet you're good."

She smiled and shrugged, and stabbed at a piece of pasta with her fork. "I'm not too bad," she said after a minute. Itey smiled again. She sounded like when Race had said he was an all right drummer, but the modesty was actually genuine.

"She's good," Maria interrupted.

"And do you play anything?" Jack asked, and Race let out a deep breath. The conversation might actually become normal.

"Mmhmm. I play--I just started playing clarinet, but I _wanted_ to play drums like Tony. But--"

"Maria."

She shrugged. "But I like clarinet, too."

"I used to play clarinet," Dutchy commented, rubbing his nose. "I suc-" He cleared this throat when David mumbled something. "I was _awful."_

"It sounded like something died every time you played," Jack joked, and David laughed. Mush, who Race could tell was probably clenching the still down-hearted Blink's hand under the table, grinned at David. "Didn't you used to want to be a baton twirler?"

"I baton twirl!" Maria spoke up.

"I did _not,"_ David hissed, then to Maria as though he was afraid he'd offended her, "Though I'm sure you're the most lovely twirler in your school. Tony said you were going to a competition for it."

"He did?" she beamed, and Race was suddenly grateful that David actually paid attention to details when people spoke.

"Sure," Mush interrupted, sensing the salvation of dinner being at hand. "He talks about you all the time."

"He _does?"_ she squeaked.

They both nodded emphatically, and she looked over at Race, who shrugged nonchalantly, as though big brotherly pride was nothing special to either one of them.

He glanced around the table, and things didn't look so bad. Maria was happy, his mother had a smile which could have been real, though it could easily have been plastered on, and Sophia was clearly trying very hard not to look at Itey and failing. His father... Well, he didn't look happy, but no one had said anything he could criticize for a few seconds.

Race dared to hope that he'd survive the dinner in tact, without his friends hating him (Blink seemed to have recovered, if only slightly) and maybe, _maybe_ even have his presence in the band approved.

His hopes were dashed the moment Dutchy's nose started to bleed.

Dutchy had been swatting slightly at his nose for awhile before cursing. At the dinner table. "Shit," he snapped. Mr. Higgins's head had shot up, his face turning slightly red, and awaiting to pounce on any victim who would mess up next.

"WHAT did you say ?" He growled.

Dutchy's face went a little white. "Sorry, sir, I uh... I... my nose is bleeding."

Race almost groaned.

He used to get nosebleeds. Every day. Every time he did, his father lost it. Poor Dutchy was stuck with what was most likely an every day nosebleed, and his father was assuming...

But then Dutchy swatted at the air in front of his nose. "'Sorry, who said that?"

Race stood before anyone could react, panicking inwardly, and tried to sound calm as he said, "C'mon, bathroom's this way." Dutchy stood, and Race very nearly dragged him to the closest bathroom.

He handed Dutchy a tissue and waited for a minute, while Dutchy pressed it to his nose. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine," Dutchy said from behind his hand. "Just happens sometimes."

"Hearing things? Or nosebleeds?"

"Nosebleeds, dumbass. I don't hear things."

"You just did," Racetrack pressed, and Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I _thought_ I heard your Dad say something heartless to one of us, but that could just be because it's all he's said all night."

Race's face fell. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry."

Which was the last thing that Dutchy expected. Race didn't seem like the sort of person who apologized. Ever.

"What?" Dutchy asked, his voice nasally because of the kleenex.

"I'm sorry. I know he's a jackass."

Dutchy reddened, embarrassed, and shrugged, twice, and flopped his head slightly to the side. "I'm just tired. Don't worry about it. And you know, the air is dry and I get nosebleeds, and I get grumpy. It ain't your fault what he said."

Race nodded, not wanting to continue the topic. But then Blink drifted into his head. And Spot.

"Is Blink mad?"

"Not at you."

"And Spot?"

"What about him?"

"My dad was being kind of... You know, heartless. To him."

Dutchy managed to smirk behind the kleenex. "I think he's just going to be smug. He actually won."

"Yeah." Race leant back against the sink. "He _earned_ the right to be smug."

Dutchy wadded up the tissue, dropped it in the trash, and picked up another one. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. "You want to go back? I'll be okay," he offered.

"You joking? I want to stay as far away from that as possible."

Dutchy smiled, but said, "You don't think Spot's busy destroying your chances of ever being allowed near us again?"

"He's..." Race trailed off. "Damn it. Okay, um, you can use any of the towels in here to wash your face, just drop it in the hamper in the corner, okay?"

"No problem."

Race threw him a last apologetic shrug and hurried back towards the dining room. Dutchy watched him leave, shut the door quietly behind him, and reached into his pocket.

Race made his way back into the dining room, and wasn't surprised when all eyes were on him, his father's dead set, critical glare the most intimidating, and expectant of all. But Race instead looked at Blink, and gave him what he hoped was an apologetic smile.

Blink didn't look angry.

Race was hardly ever nice, but he knew that this dinner was going to cost him. He might even have to lay off the insults for awhile.

"He okay?" Itey asked. Race nodded.

"Dry air," he replied, and shrugged nonchalantly. Just as long as his father didn't...

"'Dry air'," the man scoffed. "Sounds familiar."

"Well, it isn't."

"Dutchy has really low tolerance," Mush jumped in, looking a little frantic. "He...he has allergies."

"Yeah; he gets nose bleeds like that all the time," Blink added, speaking for the first time since he'd been chastised by Mr. Higgins. "He's supposed to see the doctor about it next week."

"All the time?" Mr. Higgins asked.

Race would have argued the point, but didn't feel up to it. 'All the time.' That was _really_ bad. He looked over at Mush and David, tried to catch their eyes, but neither one of them noticed.

"Well, not _all_ the time. Maybe once every day or two," Jack explained. "He's really used to it, but, um, he shouldn't have been cursing. Sorry about that."

"And do you often apologize for your friends' shortcomings?"

"Sure," Spot interrupted. "He does when his friend's not here to defend himself."

Mr. Higgins slowly looked over at Spot once more, and narrowed his eyes. "You don't seem to be finished eating. Are you not _hungry?"_

Then realization dawned on Race. Spot wasn't hungry, and memories of Race's loss of appetite back when his addiction had been getting worse and worse...

He'd be damned if his father would try to pin something on Spot that Spot obviously didn't do.

"Don't be so paranoid!" Race snapped. "He isn't hungry and Dutchy has allergies."

"I ate before I got here," Spot followed quickly.

"You ate before coming to _dinner?"_ Mr. Higgins repeated the words slowly, carefully. Spot looked caught again. 

"Huge lunch. What can I say, I'm a growing boy."

"A lot of growing to do, indeed." Mr. Higgins disregarded Spot, who looked ready to explode. "That boy better not have bled on the new towels."

"Please," Race snorted.

"Anthony."

"What? The towels are supposed to be more important than my _friend?"_ Race snapped.

There was a silence.

Race realized what he'd said.

He didn't apologize, but he did suddenly look awfully pale and slightly shaky. He stared down at his plate and didn't dare look up; the silence continued for another few moments, and finally Mrs. Higgins said, "Maria, Sophia, please help me clear the table."

"Perhaps your _friends_ should help clear the table as well," Mr. Higgins said in his most deep and frightening voice. "It seems only polite, don't you think?"

Race didn't have to look up to know all of them scrambled to take their plates into the kitchen. However, he noted in the corner of his eye that Spot was watching him again, like he'd be doing lately. Only this time it was different.

"You haven't exactly been polite either," Race muttered.

That had done it.

"Anthony. A word with you. Now." Mr. Higgins stood and walked out of the room, without waiting to see if Race would follow.

Race followed, and tried very hard not to shake. This had been a disaster of epic proportion, he was going to pay for daring to like people his father didn't--and the fact that his father didn't like them really cemented the fact that he _did_--and there wasn't a lot he could do about it.

His father didn't bother to get out of earshot of the dining room and kitchen before he started. He didn't even bother to slide into Italian and leave it so the only people who could hear him humiliate his son were family members.

"I have never allowed your attitude in this house, _young man,_ and I _certainly_ will not begin to do so now..."

Race barely even listened to the words. He knew the speech by heart, with the added twist of the night: his grades weren't good enough or he wasn't smart enough; he wasted his time and ignored his future; he lied, cheated, or stole depending on what he was being berated for at the time, and now...

"...and you _dare_ invite _those people_ into our home?"

Race wanted to yell that he liked 'those people,' and that his father was prejudice. All that managed to come out was a slightly shaky, "But sir--" before his father started again, but this time, in Italian. He was done pretending to be polite, and now was flat out being rude about Race's choice of company.

Race listened as the words cut into his brain, clenched his fists and bit his lip and tried anything to make the sound of his father fade away. Then, in Italian, his father called Spot a woman, Dutchy a junkie, and even went as far as calling Mush a fag.

Race didn't care that they couldn't understand Italian. His father could fuck Race over all he wanted, but for some reason, the last thing Race would allow was attacks on the boys. Because they hadn't done a thing.

"Shut _up,"_ Race snapped, cracking his knuckles as he unclenched his fists. "You can't expect to know what the hell you're talking about when-"

Mr. Higgins did not hit often.

When he did, it hurt. A lot.

He grabbed Race by the front of his shirt, and threw him hard against the wall. The sound of Race's back hitting the plaster was loud, and obvious, and when a picture came down to the ground, and the frame smashed, Race knew how it sounded to other ears.

"Go ahead," he said softly. "That'll make a good impression on the _scum_ you're so much _better_ than."

But for his brave words, he was actually shaking now, and wished he could be anyone else, any_where_ else.

His father stepped forward, grabbed Race's shirt again, held him pinned against the wall. Race hoped none of the bruises would show in his short sleeved shirt, but never had to deal with it.

"I'm going back to my office; you are to stop spending time with _these people_ as soon as they are out the door. And that includes," he sneered their names, "Michael and Dexter."

Race didn't bother to correct him about David's name as he stalked off, just waited for him to have left the room and slid down the wall to the floor, sat with his knees pulled up to his chest until he could hear normal noises resume in the kitchen.

Race didn't want to move. Everyone had been listening. They'd heard what a bastard his father really was, and Race had a fleeting thought that now Spot might finally give him a break; because he'd proven now that he did know what having a tough father was like. And Mr. Higgins could be much worse.

Race winced slightly. His back hurt. He didn't think about how long he just sat there, because he didn't want to go back to the dining room. He wasn't sure how he could face his friends

"Hey."

Race glanced up. Spot stood there in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. Race looked down at his feet again. He said nothing. Spot did.

"Thanks."

Then Race shot his head up again to look at Spot. "What?"

"For havin' a backbone," Spot said, holding out his hand. "Come on, get up."

Race didn't move for a moment--just watched Spot with a sudden look of companionship. He took Spot's hand, and Spot pulled him up with a burst of strength.

"He's a dick," Race mumbled.

"I can see that."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

They were silent. And Race couldn't help but notice that Spot was still clutching his hand.

Race looked down at his hand. So did Spot. They looked up at each other, and Spot kind of shrugged and smiled, and let his hand drop. Race couldn't help but think that had been some sort of an invitation.

An invitation to _what,_ he couldn't even fathom.

"Come on, _Midgito_; your sister's serving desert. I guess we get that before we get kicked out."

"My family is nothing if not disgustingly socially perfect."

"Aside from the part where your dad gets his kicks slamming you around?"

"Nothing social about that. We mostly pretend it doesn't happen. So," he said walking into the dining room, plastering on as large a smile as he could manage and in a voice which was just as falsely cheerful, "what's for desert, Sophia?"

*

B: Poor Race. This is the first of many times he gets slammed into walls in this story. It's kind of a running theme.

F: Abusing Race is so addictive. And so wrong. But hey, he's got Spot holding his hand, wearing spiked necklaces. I figure, he's doing okay.

B: Man. I love Spot. Though GapApparel!Blink isn't bad either.

F: May I add that Race's mum's cooking comments are like my own mother's? "Move move!! Matze Ball Soup is hot hot hot!"

B: See, no one in my family _cooks_. Which is why I can't, except spaghetti, which is now what I live on. But anyway, in not me-centric news, as of the next chapter, this fic is R-rated.

F: Wow...if she thinks _she's_ being me-centric, I must be a freaking narcissist. I love B. And our R-rated fic.

B: And I love Funkie, and also love our R-rated fic, and the reasons it becomes R-rated. Because Race!abuse? So much fun. -cough-

F: We're so sick.

B: We really are.

F: We love it. And this part was celebrated with Diet Coke and Spaghetti.

B: And iced tea.

__

Shoutouts!

****

Copper Bandit

F: Someone loves me!!!! [astonished]

B: We'll try very hard not to screw up. That would make us the saddest people of all, as we spend far too much time on this fic.

F: But oh, the fun we have. You are a fabulous reviewer. Long, funny, and full of love that all is slash. I think I may just want you.

****

Rumor

B: Hee. Wayne's World.

F: Hey hey, all forms of Spot and Race are lovable and hot and do-worthy.

B: Writing the insult war was too much fun. I gotta say, I worship Funkie for the "your mom" line, it made me giggle at my computer for, like, ten minutes.

F: I am the _master_ at "your mom" insults. I swear, four kids at school just want to kick the crap out of me. And oh yes, may I add, that B opens me up for like, every idea. Without her, I am like..."fettuccini without alfredo"

B: Mmm. Italian food... -drool- Wait, hang on, back to the shout out. Please cook for me? -puppy dog eyes- There's no dishwasher, but I'll wash the dishes. I don't mind doing it, especially if I don't have to do the cooking.

F: Cook for her and you have to clean and love her too. A B is a big responsibility.

B: It's true. If you can't take care of your B, you won't be allowed to have one. (In other words... Pamper me. -cough-)

F: The same goes for Race. Any form of Race. You want him, you must be prepared to listen when he whines and wants to go outside.

B: Poor Spot, you just know he'll get woken up at 4 AM because Race!puppy is feeling angsty.

F: Or when he's feeling horny.

B: Heh. Um. We seem to have gotten a bit off track. But the point is that we love you, doll.

****

Seraph2

F: WOOHOO. Avoiding assignments. I'm _so_ proud.

B: Me, too. A girl after my own heart. Which has 110 pages of reading left to do before class tomorrow. Yep, avoiding assignments is a good thing.

F: Brotherly!Race is _adorable_ and should be illegal he's so goddamned sweet. And he cooks, goddamnit!!

B: He cooks _well._ I've become a little cooking obsessed since this fic has started, and man. I want me some chef!Race action.

F: Chef!Race will be releasing his cookbook soon.

B: And hosting his own show on the Food Network. We suspect it'll be very highly rated.

****

Gothic Author

B: Man, you leave us not one, but TWO kickass reviews. You rule!

F: Oh oh, she didn't get the odd exchange. That's okay though. There will be time...[thunder claps]

B: Yes. There will come a time when it aaaaaaall makes sense.

F: Yes. He baked bread. Race's bread is like Race being naked--it's hot and delicious.

B: -drool- Well, the SpRace cake is definitely cooking now. The oven is heating up. I hope the aroma of it will tide you over for a few chapters.

F: You're going to have to fight me for it, Gothee my dear.

B: And me. 'Cause it's yummy stuff.

F: So are you B

B: And Funkie.

Both: And GA.

****

Frogger No Baka

F: It HAS Been a while! But, we have AOL and LOVE to keep us together. :-) What would I do without my champion reviewer who always always helps me with my atrocious spelling.

B: Our BitchyRace!muse definitely kicks in a literal sense. AnorexicSpot!muse keeps waking up with bruises on his legs. Poor baby.

F: You want a muse? You get EveryoneLovesFroggie!Muse.

****

Thistle

F: Spot tries to hide it, but he's as much of an idiot when he has a crush on someone as the next person. 

B: So, no kiss. YET. Mwahahahahahahaha.

F: We bad?

B: So bad. But you should listen to Sloan. Because Sloan rocks. Even though they'll never, ever get radio play. —sigh-

****

Gothic Author Again

F: She loves us twice.

B: [singing badly] Love me two times babe... Love me twice today... Love me two times... Um... We love you too, GA. Twice.

****

Shadowlands

B: Long reviews are good reviews. Yes. As for the comma splice, sorry 'bout that. All the grammar I know I learned by ear, as my school didn't exactly teach it (ah, public education...) but I'll try and watch out for it in the future.

F: A stick master is someone who is the master of sticks. There are very few in the world; in fact, Race may just be the only one. Also, a hissy voice is what my brother does when I steal the last piece of pie.

B: As for Spot being a jerk to Jack all the time... Spot just does that. He's too macho (uh, sorta) to show actual affection, so instead he's a little snot. Hopefully this will eventually show through in the story.

F: Really, he wuvs Jack like a bwuther.

B: And yes. The Higgins family is _very_ special. It's less that they're Italian and more that they're completely insane and kind of dysfunctional but pretend not to be. Though Race actually _is_ that close to his sisters.

F: He's brotherly!Race and they all love him because...well...it's _Race_.

B: We're very glad you leave lots of comments, good and bad. We love praise, and we love improving our, and your CC is great. Also, that you now like Sloan is VERY great. -high fives Funkie- That was our evil plan.

F: We're pure evil. 

****

Aquachica: Slashgoil

B: I don't think they're forgotten so much as they're often... badly written. They're too easy to do badly. Alas. I'm sorry I haven't read your M/B story yet; I do plan to, but school has just started so my free time is vanishing around me.

F: Again, more Mush/Blink love. Those two are like chocolate. EVERYONE wants it, and too much of it is NEVER BAD. I will also read the story with much love and affection and slash-induced trance. Spot's flirting is funny because Spot is a whore.

B: A very, very sexy manwhore.

****

Nerikla

F: Wow, we're really turning Race into a porn star. :-D SO glad you appreciate him.

B: Your favorite present day fic? Yay! -squeals- Thank you!

F: You are so sweet! As for Dutchy...DUN Dun _duuuuunn_

B: Dutchy is a big old mystery. And not part of the reason the fic has to be raised to R at _all._

F: -averts eyes- Also, don't cry! We will update! Look look, we just did!

****

ShadesyDaisy

F: YOU FUCKING _ROCK._

B: Thank you! -glomp- You already know I love you, right?

F: She does.

B: I do. It's true.

****

Lee

F: LAUGHTER IS GOOD. B writes so many funny things and I go nuts. Like lustfilled!Spot. Oh that girl genius.

B: Bah. Funkie is being modest. She makes me laugh all the time. Which is why we love writing this fic so much, and we're glad people actually like it.

F: Imagine if people hated it. We'd be like..."Yay we rock" and all you is like "Boo you suck!" and it would be really quite painful.

B: Hee. And your review made me giggle. "Good" friends, indeed.

F: Mush is always cute. There is never a time when he is NOT cute.

****

Hilary & Muses

BitchSnob!Race: Of course you like this fic. I'm in it. And pfft, Spot, shag me? I only shag guys I can take out in _public._

Asshole!Spot: Yeah, well, your mom don't seem to mind taking me out in public. _Bitch._

SuperGay!Mush: Oh, hush, you two. We all know you love each other. You're not fooling anyone.

BitchSnob!Race: Though I do approve of the "abuse Spot" review.

Asshole!Spot: You _wish_ you could abuse me.

Supergay!Mush: Mmmm... masochism.

PhallicMike!Blink: **looks concerned, then turned on**

SuperGay!Mush: **blush**

BitchSnob!Race: **smirk**

Scholarship!David: Your review was wonderful, Hilary, and thank you for keeping us entertained with your fabulous--

FlannelShirt!Jack: Blah blah. So, Hilary, you doing anything tonight? Because I bet you're just a little foxy lady...

NeverAppearsOnScreen!Sarah: JACK!!

FlannelShirt!Jack: **mutters under his breath**

Suspicious!Dutchy: Sweetgoth!me, our ass is _always_ okay. **averts eyes** STOP IT.

Sweet!Itey: I swear to god, I'm not doing anything!

Asshole!Spot: Except Race's sister.

BitchSnob!Race: I HEARD THAT, YOU ASSHOLE!!

Asshole!Spot: Um, I'm "asshole!Spot" for a reason, idiot.

Scholarship/Smartass!David: Which is why you can't get any.

Asshole!Spot: Hello pot? This is Kettle?

Scholarship!David: I respect people, that's all!

BitchSnob!Race: You listen to ABBA, you freak.

Sweet!Itey: ANYWAY. If David can't be responsible enough to tell you we love you (oh, and Funkie and B do, too,) then I'll have to.

Scholarship!David: Hey, why's it always _my_ job to be responsible, huh?

SuperGay!Mush: Are you _in_ the same story we are? I think it's pretty clear.

FlannelShirt!Jack: _I'm_ the leader.

PhallicMike!Blink: Only because Mush lets you.

Sweet!Itey: ANYWAY, AS I WAS SAYING, with no interruptions from the freaking peanut gallery this time, thank you for the fabulous review. You rule. We're out before this gets any sillier...

SuperGay!Mush: Heh. "Out." I thought you liked Race's sister...

BitchSnob!Race: I HEARD THAT!

****

Stage

F: Wow, she said the magic word...[counts] SIXTEEN TIMES.

B: Wow. It's a good thing we've got two chapters written in advance, 'cause that's a lot of magic.

F: You should see me at all; I swear, I can't go a day without doing something stupid. It's hilarious! AND, you are writing a Spot/Race?...*drools* ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD. Your Specs/Dutchy's are adorable and deserve to have their own religion. 

B: You got me totally hooked on Specs/Dutchy, which you already knew, so it's only fair you do some Spot/Race. Here's hoping it's addictive, too. *g*

F: ITALIAN! Woooot. I am _on_ those songs baby.

B: And you never bore us. So there.

****

Kellyanne

F: Oh, well, you'll be ooonnneee happy camper in times to come.

B: Heh. What she said.

F: I called Mark a cute asshole. He called me his little whore. I thank you for making this possible. Bigbrother!Race *rocks*

B: Where as most of my friends aren't cute. They can be assholes, but they're endearing assholes. Like Race. But without the sexy drummerness. Unfortunately. :)

F: Race's sexy drummerness is very rare.

B: Again, unfortunately.

F: Love you babycakes!

****

Shot Hunter

To book drummer!Race, please contact "Sexy Bitch, Inc." He also does strip teases. We highly recommend them.

F: [pulls out clipboard] Currently he's been rated 'Number One Drummer Whore in The World'.

B: We think Spot may have rigged the vote, though.

F: Spot has this _thing_ with Drummer whores.

B: Though if he says Race is the best, he's probably right. He gets around a lot. As he's just a whore, who doesn't even drum.

F: Which is okay. Oh oh, and 'Friday, I'm In Love' is great, keep working at it!

****

Cards

F:...[goofy smile] Our story was _huggled!_

B: -glomps you- When do you get your license, doll?

__

Tune in next time for our lovely R-rated, how-the-hell-can-Race-screw-up-any-more chapter of action and excitement!


	5. Feed Your Head

****

Note: The rating has been upped to R for a reason. It may not be strictly necessary, but the chapter content may disturb a few people. And we'd have to raise the rating later anyway. -grin- Enjoy.

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

And the joke is

When he awoke his

Body was covered in Coke fizz

-Sloan, _Money City Maniacs_

**__**

Chapter Five: Feed Your Head

"David, you know there isn't a chance," Race mumbled into the telephone, all the while trying to find his calamari recipe, which he was positive was stolen by Sophia. "Mussolini wants to kill me. I'm not going anywhere."

"Tony, come _on._ I'm not begging you to come for me or for the guys. You've been getting flack all week, I know you have. You need a party. You'll feel a lot better."

"Oh yeah, and I'm sure his asshole-ness himself agrees."

"So don't tell him."

"He knows _everything."_ Race flipped open a cupboard, and found the recipe on a post it, stuck to the door. "Heeere we go..."

"Tony--"

"Besides, how the hell could I actually face them again? Christ, I invited them over and my dad _humiliated_ them--"

"Tony, Mush and I already told you. He humiliated _you_, we were just... There. No one blames you."

"Yeah, right."

"Hey, since when don't you trust me?" David demanded. "Mush and Blink talked for hours that night; Blink felt awful about everything, but he knew it wasn't your fault. Jack said the same thing to me, and even _Spot..."_ He trailed off.

"What about Spot?"

"He understands too. And if you can get _Spot_ to feel bad for you--"

"I don't fucking want people to feel bad for me, Dave! I fight with my dad, who doesn't? It doesn't _matter."_

"Would you stop acting so paranoid!?" David snapped on the other end. Race stopped scanning his eyes at the post-it note. He was silent. "God, I wouldn't LIE to you, you know. Me and Mush we... well, we look out for you for a reason, so would you at least LET us?"

Race didn't say anything, and instead busied himself with finding ingredients on the spice rack. He didn't want to reply. David was entering foreign territory right now. Territory that Race didn't want to venture into.

"Tony, stop ignoring me."

"I'm busy right now."

David sighed on the other end. "Well, I'm not hanging up."

"Well, I _am."_

"Tony, god, why do you freak out every time people are _nice_ to you? It's not the end of the world or anything; we're your _friends."_

"Yeah, sure."

"What, you don't believe that? Christ, you're an idiot sometimes. Mush and me--three years we've known you; if we didn't _like_ you don't you think we'd have let you know by now?"

"There's a difference between liking someone and tolerating his presence."

"Well, _you're_ just a bundle of sunshine today, aren't you?"

"Listen, _I_ don't call people to talk about everything that's wrong with me."

"I called _you."_

"That's not the point. I already know I'm a-"

"STOP IT." David's voice was yelling in Race's ear, and startled him into hitting his hand on the counter, which was fairly painful. "I want you to come to this party because I care about you and I'm worried about you, and I just want you to have a nice time for ONCE in your LIFE."

Race shook his hand slightly, which was sore from its crash with the kitchen counter. He blushed a little.

David and Mush had never said anything like that before.

He didn't reply for a long time.

"Tony? Are you still there?" David finally asked.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay. David, I... Christ."

"Don't worry, just stop arguing with me, okay?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Race went back to his recipe. "It's just, I'm pretty much grounded until I die, so I'm not supposed to go out at all, and if I go out with _you_ guys... I mean, I _want_ to..."

"Can you sneak out?"

"From my dad? Are you fucking _kidding_ me? He'd find out; he finds _everything_ out."

"Well--" Race heard yelling on the other line. "Sarah, I'm on the PHONE!...no, go away!" More random noises were heard, then David swore under his breath. "She can be _so_...okay, I have to go, but I'll call you _right back_, okay? And we'll find out what we can do about this and it'll be fine. You're coming. No buts."

Before he could respond, David hung up. Race snorted and hung up the phone, deciding the only way to calm his nerves was to finish up making the calamari, and then pound out a good beat on the set. He _really_ needed to play. But his groaning stomach was begging for food first.

When Race turned around to flip on the stove, Sophia entered the kitchen.

__

"Ciao, Rosetta," Race said casually. She didn't respond and he raised an eyebrow. "Sophia?"

"I can help you..." she said softly.

Great. Sophia'd heard him whine about being a fuck up. He hated it when his sisters saw him lose it.

"It's fine, Sophia; I don't need your help. I'm fine."

"Yeah, that was _real_ convincing, Tony." She perched on the counter and watched him cook. "You know Izzy's coming home tonight; she'll talk to Dad for you."

"I don't want her to."

"You'd rather be grounded for the rest of your life and never see your friends again?"

"Than beg Isabella to ask Dad on my behalf? Yeah."

"You don't have to beg, idiot; she'll do it anyway. She always does. She _worries_ about you. We all do."

"Great. First David and now you--I'm not sure how much more sympathy I can stand."

"This isn't sympathy, I don't feel bad for you, I just think you're stupid. But I _do_ worry about you. Because you're stupid."

"I can't tell if you're trying to comfort me or not."

"I'm trying to tell you that you're stupid," Sophia resolved, shrugging. She kept the meaning of her comment to herself, but something in the way she called him stupid didn't seem like an insult. Maria may have been Race's favorite, but he loved Sophia so much he could hardly stand it sometimes.

"Okay, well, you're ugly," he replied. Sophia smiled.

"I was just wondering, um..." She reddened slightly while Race finished up heating the stove and finally cooking the breaded calamari. "Well..."

Race raised an eyebrow. "This timid, graceful thing doesn't work for you."

"Oh, shut up," she replied. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away."

"Stop being impatient."

"Stop being annoying."

"Well, stop being stupid!" she snapped. "What I'm saying is, Isabella can talk to Dad, and if you want to go to the party I heard you talking about, I can get you off the hook for the night."

"What?"

"Look. You just go; I'll cover and tell dad you're at a study group or something."

"Like he'll believe _that."_

"I'll make it work."

"Sophia, I--thanks for the offer, but if I fuck up one more time--"

__

"You didn't fuck up, you made friends and Dad didn't like them. But _I_ liked them and I don't think it's fair. Okay?"

He stared at her for a second. "You really think you can cover for me?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"--but there's a price, brother dear."

Race rolled his eyes. "For a second there, I thought you were doing something out of the kindness of your own heart. But then I remembered, 'No! That's im_possible_'."

"I'll ignore that," Sophia snapped.

She didn't say anything after that. In fact, her face had turned red again and Race was growing suspicious. "Sophia?...what's this 'price'?"

"Well, uh..." She cleared her throat. "You have...you have Gabriel's phone number. Right?"

Silence.

"No."

__

"Tony!"

"No way."

"No you don't _have_ it? Or you're saying _no?"_

"I don't _have_ it! And also, _no!"_

"TONY!"

"Well, I _don't_ have it."

"But you can _get_ it. Or you can give him mine. And tell him to call so I know you did it!"

"So_phi_a!"

"What, are you going to claim he's not good enough for me? I thought that was what _Dad_ thought."

"Of course he's--he's real nice, yeah, but Sophia! He's one of my _friends!_ And you're my sister, and..." He trailed off and shuddered.

"Better I date one of your friends than someone you've never met, right?"

"Better you date no one at all, and join a convent."

__

"Tony!"

Uh oh. Pleading face. Maria was the master of pleading faces, but Race never said no to Maria anyway. However, Sophia never, _ever_ begged Race for anything. And though part of Race was convinced he was being a good brother, another part, a smarter one, was telling him he was being an ass.

Race sighed. "Do you _really_ like him?"

Sophia bit her lip. "Well, if I got to know him, I think I might." Race stared at her. "Come _on_, Tony. Just this once, _please_ let me be a normal teenage girl instead of one whose brother who wont even let me wear tank tops."

Race groaned. "God, I hate you."

"That's a yes, isn't it?"

He glared at her. "Do you want me to give him your cell or the landline?"

"Cell, please. I don't want Dad listening in. I don't think he'd approve."

"I think he's got our cells tapped, Sophia."

"Paranoia? You're not sniffing again, are you?"

"You think that's paranoia? He's a lunatic."

"He's your _father."_

"He's yours, too."

She shrugged. "He does love you, Tony. You just... Frustrate him."

"Sophia, it's easier for you to not hate his goddamn guts, because he doesn't want you to go around shooting people from black limos and wearing goddamn Armani suits."

"This isn't the _Godfather_, you know. And Dad isn't Robert DeNiro."

"My point is, when it comes to Dad, back off."

Sophia sighed, and nodded. "Fine...so...will you give Gabriel my number?"

"...yeah." Sophia kissed his cheek and squealed, and then Race grinned. "And it's Marlon Brando. Not DeNiro."

"Sor_ry."_

"Some Italian you are."

She rolled her eyes and started to reply, but the phone rang and he picked it up and waved her to leave him alone. "Hello?"

"Tony. So, you're coming tonight."

"Yep."

"Because you deserve to have fun."

"Okay."

"So we'll find a way to--you said okay?"

"Yeah; Sophia's going to cover for me."

"Oh." David paused. "Good! Should Mush pick you up, or--"

"I'll grab a bus, that way Dad doesn't have a chance of seeing Mush and no one recognizes my car."

"Paranoid freak."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"So I'll see you?"

"Yeah."

"Tony?"

"What?" David didn't say anything. "Uh oh, you're going to say something lame aren't you?"

"No. _Now_ I'm not."

Race laughed. "I'll see you tonight, okay? And uh...this is all at Blink's, right?"

"Yeah."

Race was getting distracted by Sophia, who kept poking his arm and muttering 'Gabriel!' over and over. "Is Itey going to be there?" Race said with an annoyed tone.

"Uh...yeah. Is that okay?"

"Sophia made me ask."

Sophia slapped his arm as David laughed on the other line. "Oooohhh."

"Yep."

"Jack is gonna _love_ that."

"The only reason I agreed to give him her number is to see the look on Jack's face."

He laughed. "All right; I'll let people know you're coming."

Finally, David said his goodbye's, and hung up the phone, and Race went back to his calamari, which was finished by now. Sophia was opening the fridge, taking out an apple and a bottle of water, looking a little flushed.

"So, I'll give him your number tonight, okay?" Race said. "And uh...well, he's a good guy and everything. So..."

"Right." Sophia nodded. "I'll talk to Daddy." She kissed his cheek again, and left the room.

Race proceeded to take his bowl of calamari upstairs and drown himself in some music.

It had already been a week since the dinner; he'd never been allowed to go to parties on week nights, and while he'd made up with David and Mush at school already, he hadn't seen or heard from anyone else, except second hand. He both looked forward to seeing them and dreaded it; a week was a long time to be trapped in the house, with no human contact aside from his family.

And his father wasn't particularly speaking to him, though he didn't mind that too much.

But eventually, his parents went out for an evening at a friend's, and he stopped and knocked on the door to Sophia's room. "Maria is at a friend's for the night, so I'm just gonna..."

"Yeah, yeah," she answered, then paused and reached on to her desk, and shoved a slip of paper into his hand. He glanced down at it; it turned out to be a copy of her school picture from that fall. "For Gabriel, if he wants it. My number is on the back."

Race actually managed to smile at that. "Yeah, he'll want it," he promised.

Race turned to leave her impeccably neat room, which was decorated with symphony orchestra posters, and glanced back at her. "Uh...you sure you want to be alone?"

"It's fine. I'll invite Jess and Lisa over or something."

Race gave her forehead a kiss. "I'll call you, okay? To check up."

"Okay,_ mom."_

Race left Sophia's room, and started down the stairs. He was forbidden to use the car again until the next night, and he was counting the hours. He was stuck with crappy bus service again. He really wished he had David to ride the bus with--bus rides with David were fun.

But at least the bus was on time, which was more than he usually hoped for, and it was only an almost hour long trip. Which was only about thirty-five minutes by car, but still. It was nearly seven thirty by the time he arrived at the corner near Blink's, and as he walked he began to almost regret going. Aside from the fact that he could potentially be in a LOT of trouble for this, he couldn't even be sure that Blink and the others didn't hate him. David claimed they didn't, but it was possible they were just trying to make _David_ feel better, since they assumed they'd see him again.

But he arrived at Blink's, saw that the garage door was actually closed, and so he nervously knocked on the front door. It swung open a moment later, with David behind it. "Hey! You're here! Good!" He grabbed Race's wrist and dragged him into the interior of the house, which Race abruptly realized he'd never seen before.

It was messy, though it looked like someone had attempted to clean hastily. The room was full, Race only recognized a few people, but the people who knew him all seemed to go silent and stare.

Race cleared his throat as Jack scratched the back of his head, Dutchy cracked his knuckles and darted his eyes around the room... but he ignored them and walked purposefully over to Itey.

"This," Race dug into his pocket, making a show of it to Jack, and pulled out the photo of Sophia, "is for you."

Itey blinked, and took the picture. When he saw what it was, he blushed.

"Her number is on the back," Race said. Itey smiled up at him.

"Geeze, thanks Ton-"

Race grabbed the front of Itey's collar and pulled him close. "If you _ever_ make her cry, I'm going to make _you_ cry, which I promise you will be much more painful."

Itey stared at him for a second, then nodded.

"I'm serious. I'll break every bone in your body."

"I believe you," Itey smiled. "I'll be very, very kind. And gentlemanly. And... Avoid having you hurt me."

"Good." Race smiled, releasing his hold on Itey's shirt. "She says hi, by the way. Make sure you call her soon; she's the one covering for me tonight and if you don't, she'll kill me, and then my dad will kill me, and probably her too."

"Tony, I _want_ to call her."

"Good."

"Drink, Tony?" Blink called from the door to what, Tony assumed, was the kitchen.

"Uh... yeah, please."

Blink nodded, but was then pushed to the side by Spot, who emerged with two beers, a grin on his face, and a very nice fitting pair of jeans that had a guitar patch stitched into the knee, and a tight, light green Che Guvarez shirt.

"Alcohol. Drink up," Spot said, handing him the bottle, and then biting off the cap of his own bottle. Race stared open-mouthed.

"I keep telling you that's going to put your teeth out." Itey winced. Mush appeared from the kitchen behind him.

"Don't stop doing that," Mush said to Spot, slightly drooling. _"Ever."_

"Gee, see something you like, Mush?" Spot smirked.

"Hey!" Blink yelped. "Hands off, he's mine!"

Mush grinned and blew Blink a kiss, Spot made a fake retching noise, and downed a surprising amount of his drink without pausing for breath. "Drink up, Tony."

Race opened his bottle--NOT using his teeth, given how much his braces had cost back in middle school--and took a few swigs, then awkwardly sat down on the free sofa.

"So," Dutchy said finally.

"Okay, time to clear the air. Tony, you get to talk for ten seconds, and that's all we're hearing because we already know it wasn't your fault," Blink commented.

"You've been talking to Mush and David too much," Race answered.

"Ten starting.... now."

Race didn't want to oblige, but he figured, why the hell not? After all...he _did_ have to say something.

"My father is a total shit head, and I don't share any of his opinions and I'm sorry about everything he said and did because you guys are..." Race took a breath. "Kind of my friends."

"Oh oh, you hear that?" Jack raised his bottle. "Hear that, we're his friends!"

"Shut up." Race glared.

"You know," Blink gave a fake, long sigh, "I... I think this calls for a hug."

"Try it and I'll kick your ass."

"Now _there's_ the Tony we know and love," Itey noted.

"Shut up." 

"Awwww."

"Seriously."

"Yeah; Tony doesn't deal well with displays of affection," David mocked. "They freak him out."

"Do they really?" Spot mused, set down his beer, and launched himself at Race, wrapped his arms around him and hissed in his ear, "Aww, you caught me."

"Fuck off," Race answered and shoved Spot off of him.

"Spot, he's _straight,"_ Mush reminded him, as Spot slid into the seat next to Race and reached for his beer again.

"Drink up," Spot said. "Cheers." He finished his drink.

Mush rolled his eyes. Earlier, before most of the other people had arrived, Spot had mentioned something to Mush about getting Race as drunk as humanly possible. Mush hoped to keep his eye on Race for the rest of the night, but it was hard to do when Blink was looking so fabulous.

"You wanna go somewhere private?" Blink mumbled into Mush's hair as he slipped his arm's around his waist. Mush smiled up at him.

"Yeah," he replied, giving the hollow of Blink's jaw a kiss. "It seems like we haven't been alone in forever."

Blink grinned and took Mush's hands. "Have fun, kiddies," he said loudly, and then nodded at Race. "Don't worry, okay? Relax."

Race grinned, and took another sip of beer, and raised an eyebrow at Spot. "What?"

"Nothing," Spot said, finishing up his own beer.

"You're evil," Mush snapped at Spot as he and Blink left. Spot just shot him a smile, and didn't reply.

"What the hell was that about?" Race demanded.

"Spo-_ot_ has a cru-_ush_..." Jack said in a sing song voice, which lead Spot to throw his empty bottle at Jack. Not maliciously, and he missed (clearly on purpose), and Jack started laughing. "Poor Spotty-wotty, crushing on a straight boy..."

Spot rolled his eyes, and Race took a long drink and glanced over at Spot.

"Ignore him."

"Planned to."

Spot grinned. "Oh, good. Want another drink?"

"Uh, not yet, thanks."

"Come on, lighten up. You heard Blink," Spot answered, and nodded at Dutchy, who had re-entered the room with a box of Kokanee's. "Toss over two."

Dutchy seemed wired. He was slightly flushed, and he was laughing a lot. "Yeah, sure! Geezus, I am so going to get totally smashed tonight you have no freaking clue." He said this all very quickly as he chucked two bottles of beer over to Spot.

Spot handed one to Race, who took it without looking at him. Race gave Dutchy a confused look, and then shook his head, and glanced at Spot.

"Are you an alcoholic?" Race asked, half-sarcastic, as Spot started drinking his second beer, quite rapidly.

"Nope. High tolerance; takes a lot to get me drunk. You?"

"I do all right for myself."

"Wanna try a drinking contest, then?"

"Uh, no?"

"Wuss."

"Bitch."

"Midget."

"Anorexic."

Dutchy burst into giggles, and Race gave him an odd look. "You okay?" he asked.

"Fine! You two are just... Soooo adorable together, you know? All yelling at each other and everything, it's like something out of a movie..."

"You are on _so_ much crack," Jack told him.

"Heh. Am not."

Race's face fell. "He's _what?"_

"I'm not ANYTHING," Dutchy exclaimed, and snorted as he started laughing again. Race looked at Jack, his eyes asking the question he didn't want to voice out because...well, because of a lot of things.

"Don't worry about it," Jack answered, sipping his beer.

"Worry about what?" Race said, his voice monotone.

"Seriously, don't." Spot shrugged. "It's just Dutchy."

"I'M Dutchy, you fucker," Dutchy answered.

"That's my point. He's just weird. You get used to it."

"Okay." Race looked around and found David standing in a doorway, looking on, amused. He managed to catch David's eye, and David shrugged a little; he didn't see any problem. He'd known Dutchy for a lot longer, Race supposed, so he decided to try and stop worrying and went back to drinking, and wondered if this was how he'd started drinking at the first party he'd been at. Except this time he knew the people, which was why it was awkward. Dutchy was crazy, Spot was (sort of) hitting on him, and, he decided, he wasn't nearly drunk enough.

Race discovered many things as the night progressed. For one thing, Spot could drink a bottle of beer in eighteen seconds flat, which he did three times in a row, and somehow, he remained still fairly sober. His speech was slurred, but he knew what he was doing.

However, he was growing more and more erotic, and Race didn't know if that was even the alcohol.

"You gonna drink 'nymore?" Spot asked, leaning back and sipping from a water bottle. Jack had given it to him to sober him up a little, even if Spot wasn't too drunk in the first place.

"I might," Race said, his third beer still in hand. "Where do you _keep_ all that beer? You're not even near gone."

"'S a talent," Spot answered. "Got it from my old man."

"He drank a lot?"

Spot paused, perhaps saying more than he meant to. Then he shrugged. "Yeah. Sometimes."

A yell came from across the room and Race saw that some random girl had taken off her shirt and was dancing on a table. Race rolled his eyes, and glanced around. "Where'd everyone go?" he asked Jack.

"Mush and Blink are probably still at it," he answered. "And David's talking to some chick from his piano recitals." Jack sipped his beer. "Itey called Sophia ten minutes ago. Think he's still on the phone."

Race rolled his eyes and Jack snickered.

"Dutchy went home a few minutes ago, though."

Spot made a confused face. "Why the fuck would he go home? This is a freaking party."

"Said he had to feed his dog."

"Uh. He skipped out on a party to _feed his dog?"_ Race asked incredulously.

"Yeah...? He just lives down the street, he'll be back in a minute."

Race hesitated and considered the facts: Dutchy was too skinny and had no appetite. Dutchy seemed to either hear things or talk to himself a lot. Dutchy had frequent nosebleeds and had walked in looking oddly euphoric.

Race put down his beer. He hated himself for it, but, "Where does he live? Walking distance?"

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

"Just... Want to make sure he's okay; he was pretty drunk when he left."

"Not _that_ drunk."

"I'll just be a minute. Where's he live?"

Jack shrugged and gave him directions; he hesitated for another second and headed off. It was just paranoia, but he had to be sure. He _had_ to be.

"What's he so worried about?" Spot said, looking slightly pissed that Race had left him sitting on the couch to go see how Dutchy was doing. Jack sighed.

"I dunno. I mean, Dutchy's done shit like, once or twice. I guess Tony is just paranoid. You know."

Spot didn't answer.

*

Dutchy's house was small, and white, and it was almost like no one else lived there but Dutchy. The door wasn't locked, and Race wasn't surprised, but he was getting more and more worried by the minute. His suspicions were slowly being confirmed by each step he took as he walked into the house and shut the door behind him. He didn't lock it either. 

"Dutchy?" he called. "Dutchy?"

What he heard was a fit of laughter from another room, and he followed the sound, opened the last door, and there was Dutchy, laughing his ass off, his nose bleeding, his pupils dilated and a small bag of white powder on the table in front of him. There wasn't much left in the bag.

Race stared at Dutchy. He stared at the bag on the table. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

He didn't say anything for a moment. He just stared at the bag for what felt like hours, even if it was only minutes.

And he realized, with frightening realism, that he wanted everything in that bag with a fierce lust. It looked inviting, and white, and soothing. Race pushed the feelings away, shaking his head. He was stressed out, of course it wouldn't be easy to look at a bag of cocaine. But he was here for Dutchy.

"Dutchy, you fucker, come on," Race growled, walking over to him and grabbing his arm. Dutchy shook him off violently.

"Tony!" Dutchy said cheerfully. "You wanna party with me?"

__

Yes, Race thought. "No, that shit'll fuck you up."

"Awwww, come on. You gotta be stressed, man, it lets you let go. You _gotta_ be stressed, I _met_ your dad." He giggled. "He thinks I'm a drug addict."

"You _are_ a drug addict."

Dutchy laughed again. He definitely looked like he was having fun. "Yeah," he said. "I am. Come on, just a little bit. Have fun with me. No one else will..."

"Dutchy, that's 'cause it's stupid," Race said, his voice sounding pathetically less and less convincing. He'd never had to give this kind of speech before, just heard it. He knew the words, but couldn't read the lines.

"Come oooon, Tonyyy," Dutchy slurred. "It sucks kinda, sometimes. I'm always on my own." He started laughing. "I'm a fucking LOSER."

Dutchy laughed hysterically, saying random, fast things, and Race stood there, watching. He should have been disgusted now that he saw what he'd been like. But he wasn't. He wasn't disgusted at all.

He was tempted.

He was so tempted it hurt; so tempted he felt like he'd just come _down,_ like the only thing in the entire world that would get him through the next ten minutes was if he could get back _up._ Two years slipped away; two years of being clean, of ignoring cravings, of hard work to try and earn back the respect of his family, to pay back Mush and David for all the times they'd saved him from himself, two years of strength.

It was gone in an instant. He felt like he was in a desert and what sat on the table was a glass of water. He didn't just want it, he needed it to survive.

He couldn't manage a coherent thought. Half-formed images ran through his brain: drug tests, his father, his friends, his sisters, all of them reasons to get the hell out of Dutchy's house. He could tell the others; Mush and David, at least, had experience with helping addicts. But he didn't want to do that. He wanted to sit down. He wanted to be happy. And that was all he could feel.

He knew he _needed_ to think, and that he couldn't think while staring at the cocaine. He wouldn't be able to think so long as he knew it was nearby, somewhere he could get to it. He wouldn't be able to, not unless he calmed the hell down.

There was really only one way he could think of to calm down when faced with cocaine.

He sat down at the table next to Dutchy.

*

Mush and Blink appeared back at the party about an hour and a half after they'd locked themselves in Blink's room. Blink looked slightly dazed and Mush looked slightly goofy and both looked very in love.

They sat down on the couch, and Spot looked did not look slightly dazed, goofy, or even happy. He just looked annoyed. "Hey, nice fuck?"

"Yes," Mush answered, and Blink giggled. Spot rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't roll your eyes, you're just pissed because Tony doesn't want you."

"Yes, he does."

"No, Spot, he doesn't."

"He just doesn't know it yet," Spot grumbled, reaching for another beer. Jack took it away from him.

"Where is he, anyway? Did he," Mush started laughing and tried to finish the sentence, "find the hot chick he was making out with last time?"

"Fuck you."

"He went to go check on Dutchy," Jack answered. "Like, fifteen minutes ago."

"Check on Dutchy?" Mush asked.

"Yeah; his dad got him paranoid. He thinks Dutchy might be on drugs or something," Jack explained. "Ran over to his house to make sure, should be back any time."

Mush hesitated, then remembered he didn't really know these guys as well as he kept thinking he did--except Blink, of course--and asked, _"Is_ Dutchy on drugs?"

"Uh, sometimes? He and I used to smoke together, but I stopped and he... Didn't, really, but he doesn't _usually_ do anything else," Blink answered.

"Usually," Mush repeated. "When he does, what does he...?"

"God, I don't know. He's Dutchy; it's what he does. He'll be fine."

Mush swallowed hard. "Cocaine?" he asked.

Jack shrugged. "Yeah, could be, I guess. Why?"

The next moment was one that would live on in the minds of the boys who saw it for years to come: it was the moment when Mush, seemingly, lost his mind.

"YOU..." Mush's eyes went wide. "You...YOU LET TONY..." Then he was standing, and shouting loud, his face red. "You let Tony fucking go where there's FUCKING COCAINE?!"

No one said anything as Mush searched the room. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" he screamed at Jack as he grabbed his jacket, which was discarded on a chair. "HOLY SHIT, this could...this could mess everything up oh my god oh my god oh my god...."

"Mush, settle down!" Blink exclaimed, rushing towards him. "It's-"

"I can't _SETTLE DOWN,"_ Mush hissed. "I can't...you all...you all do whatever you want, but I NEED to get to Tony!" He turned to Jack. "Where's David?"

"I-"

"DAVID. Where is he?!"

"He's in the next--"

__

"DAVID!"

David appeared in the room, looking startled, because Mush _never_ screamed like that. He'd yell to get someone's attention, but only to make his voice louder; he never screamed like he was angry, because Mush just didn't _get_ angry.

"What?" David asked.

"Tony is--fucking--I've got to--someone fucking tell him what happened!" Mush managed to say, already moving towards the door, and he slammed it shut afterwards hard enough to rattle the windows in the room.

David stared at his friends. "What about Tony?" he asked.

There was a silence.

"WHAT happened?" David asked again.

"We don't know," Blink said finally. "He went to check on Dutchy, Mush found out that Dutchy sometimes snorts coke, and--"

"Oh, Jesus Christ." David's face paled visibly.

"Dave? What the hell is going on?"

David hesitated, then, "Two years ago, Tony did a lot of cocaine and almost died from it. He's been clean since then but--Christ, you don't fucking let a recovering addict in a room with his drug!"

Spot's face turned into an inexplicably guilty expression. "You mean...you mean he was being _serious?"_

He felt all eyes on him, but he kept looking at David. Who was staring right back at him. "You _knew?_ And you let him _go?"_ David snapped.

"How the hell was I supposed to know he was being fucking serious?!" Spot shot back. "We'd just met and he's going on about being a recovering... recovering fucking addict, and how the hell am I supposed to know he's serious!?"

"Settle down!" Jack commanded. "This is...come on, let's go!" No one moved a second, minus David, who'd ran out of the house in a second, forgetting a jacket. "Come on!" Jack snapped, and just then, Itey stepped into the room.

"Okay, _what_ is all the shouting, because--"

"Come on." Jack grabbed Itey's arm.

"What's-"

"Just come on." Everyone hurried to their feet, and Spot, looking like he'd lost his best friend, stared open eyed at Jack as the others left the house.

"Jack, I..." Spot shook his head. "I had no idea, I didn't-"

"It's okay Spot." Jack nodded. "Just come on."

"Fuck me, I didn't..."

"Come on, Spot."

Spot wanted to say more, but didn't; there was nothing he could really say. But he did follow the group as they dashed the block and a half to Dutchy's house, let themselves in without knocking, and could hear a barely coherent Mush screaming, "No don't you FUCKING dare I swear to God I'll-OHJESUSFUCKINGCHRIST."

David broke into the room as Mush was running out, and they actually collided, which would have been comical if things hadn't suddenly become so serious.

"Nine-one-one. _Now!"_

David turned around to find the phone, but Blink was already moving to do it, and David followed Mush back into the room, fearing the worst.

It wasn't what he expected, quite. It wasn't Race slumped in a chair, unconscious; it was Dutchy. Still bleeding, but not moving. Race was sitting in a corner of the room, knees pulled up to his chest, not really moving either, but clearly conscious.

"On their way!" Blink yelled, and David walked over to Race.

"Tony?" he asked.

Race looked up at him. There was a blood smear across his face where he'd tried to wipe it clean, and his pupils were barely more than pin pricks.

"I fucked up, Dave," he said, his voice sounding hysterical. "I totally--I totally--" he started laughing, not as though he thought anything was funny, but with the same sort of hysteria and panic, "I totally fucked up!"

"Yes you did," David agreed, his voice cracking. "You really did, but it's going to be fine, okay? You need to settle down."

"Lookit...lookit that." Race was breathing hard, and laughing, going back and forth. "Lookit, if Dutchy dies, it's 'cause I'm a fucking moron!" Then he pushed David away. "Get the fuck away from me, I don't...I don't want you!"

"Tony!" David grabbed Race's shoulders. "Tony...take a look at me."

"David..." Race muttered, his voice shuddering. "David, please..."

It took David a moment to know what Race meant. By then, Spot and Itey had come up behind him, staring in awe at Race.

"Please, David, I just...it's so fucking hard. God!" He put his hands to his ears. "God, I just..." He started laughing again.

"The ambulance will be here in a minute," Blink called from the other room.

"No!" David said sharply. "Tony, stand up. Tony. TONY, stand the fuck up." He grabbed Race's arm and tried to yank; Race refused to let himself be pulled up, just kept laughing, though there were now tears streaming down his face. For a fleeting second David wondered if they were from laughing so hard or because he knew how badly he had fucked up, but it didn't matter. "MUSH!" he snapped. "Help me; we need to get him out of here."

"Shouldn't we let the EMTs...?" Itey asked softly, scared.

"No!" David snapped, as Mush elbowed his way to where Race was sitting.

"Tony, if you don't stand up and walk, I swear to god I'll carry you," Mush said darkly. "I swear to fucking god. Get up."

Race didn't move and Mush took a deep breath, leant down and grabbed him. Mush was taller, stronger, and once he had a grip had no trouble literally throwing Race over his shoulder.

"Where?" Blink asked.

"Your room. No drugs. Locking door." Mush began to walk, and Race must have lost his breath, because he stopped laughing, and started to struggle, but he didn't stand much of a chance. "Stay with Dutchy!" Mush yelled without turning around.

"Mush," Spot said quietly, glancing around, and finally hurrying after him. "Wait. Mush, wait up I'm coming!"

Mush didn't stop, but didn't disagree as Spot hurried next to him. "You have to be prepared to watch him," Mush said in a low voice. "I'm serious, if you come, make yourself useful."

"I got it, okay?" Spot snapped. "Fuck you, I'll help."

"I'm serious, Spot-"

__

"So am I."

"Mush!" Race snapped out. "Mush, please, I just...I just want to fucking forget everything, just let me have another line because it doesn't matter! Don't you get it, it doesn't matter because everyone hates me anyway! "

"Shut up, Tony."

"No no, it's..." Race started yelling. "PLEASE, MUSH! Just ONE FUCKING MORE, I just need ONE!"

"TONY--"

"I can't think, Mush, put me down! I can't fucking breath, I can't--I know I fucked up--just let me--just so I can _concentrate._ I just need one more line, I just... I just..."

"No."

"God DAMN it, Mush, I NEED it, don't fucking DO this to me, don't--"

"No."

Race began to thrash violently; he wasn't in a position where he could do much damage, but he did get a knee into Mush's chest hard enough to knock his wind out. Spot was ready to grab Race if he did get loose and tried to go anywhere, but Mush just kept walking.

The forced march to Blink's house seemed to take forever, and it wasn't until they reached the sidewalk in front of it that Mush remembered there were other people still there. "Get them out," he said to Spot. "I'll go in through the garage. Let me know when they're gone."

Spot nodded, not quite sure if he could handle this, but suddenly, he wanted to do everything for Race. Suddenly, Race turned into an entirely different person in his eyes, and every single inch of lust Spot had was replaced with...

With affection.

Race was sick, that was obvious. And then it seemed as if everything he did was explainable. The attitude, the insults, the snobbiness...it didn't matter anymore.

The next few minutes were a blur. Spot couldn't remember even how he'd gotten everyone out of the house. Yelling, screaming, who knew? But it worked. It had worked and he was moving without thinking.

He threw the garage door open and didn't have to say anything; Race had been sitting on the couch, Mush next to him with a hand around his arm, and once again Mush hauled him to his feet. They heard an ambulance scream by outside, and for just a second that seemed to sober Race up, but it didn't last.

Mush dragged him this time, rather than carried, up the stairs to Blink's room.

"What can I do?" Spot asked.

"Sit here. Wait."

"I want to help."

"I know. Look, I--things are going to be noisy, okay? Just ignore them and stay here so that when I need to get out, someone can go back in. Dave should be here soon. He'll explain."

Mush shut the door and Spot sat with his back to it. He couldn't tell exactly what was going on, but could hear bits and pieces.

"...swear to GOD, Meyers, if you don't get out of my fucking way..."

And a crash and yelling, and it sounded painful. Probably from both ends.

An incoherent wail, screaming, hysterical laughter. Mush's voice saying something calm, reassuring, though the words didn't carry through the door.

Shouting. In Italian. Spot wondered what he was saying, but had no way of knowing.

A long quiet. David appeared, followed by Itey and Blink; Jack had gone with Dutchy to the hospital. "What's going on?" David asked, and Spot filled him in as best as he could.

"Shit..." David groaned, and then breathed in, slowly. "Okay, I'm going to go in there, I want the rest of you to stay out here."

"I want to help!" Blink snapped. "Listen, this is my house and--"

"And you don't know how to fucking deal with Tony like this." David's voice cracked. "This isn't a fucking movie, this is REAL. And--"

"FUCK IT, JUST _LET ME FUCKING GO!"_

The screams on the other side of the door grew loud before lowering once more, back and forth.

David gave them all serious looks, raising his eyebrows. "He kicks. And punches. And yells. He also gets insane. And it's scary. Me and Mush have dealt with it before. So just stay here and do what we tell you."

Then David opened the door, slipped inside, and slammed it shut. Itey, Blink and Spot were silent for awhile, not knowing what to say.

"David, thank god David, you understand, you're going to help--Mush won't HELP me, I just need to--" was all they heard for a minute, and apparently David dispelled Race of any illusions that he was there to do things Mush wouldn't, because after the short pause while David was talking, there was a long, barely human sounding scream.

"Oh, Jesus," Blink murmured, sitting next to Spot. "Oh, _Jesus."_

"His dad will _kill_ him," Itey said softly. Softly even for Itey, who barely ever seemed to speak above a murmur.

Spot swallowed hard and didn't say anything, but the shrieking from inside, and cursing that was definitely coming from David and sounded like it was caused by something fairly painful, would have drowned him out anyway. But Spot didn't care how much David got hurt--well, didn't care much--he was just worried about Race.

He should have put it together. Race was so worried about Dutchy and drugs; he'd said he was a recovering addict, he'd fucking _said_ it; his dad saying the bloody nose story sounded familiar when they all knew it was a lie...

He should have known not to let Race go alone. He clenched a fist and slammed it into the wall next to him, hard enough that it would bruise the side of his hand, then shook it out. "God damn it," he muttered. "I just... I feel..."

"Helpless?" Itey suggested. Spot nodded. "Me too."

"Yeah," Blink agreed. "What the hell can we do?"

Spot's mind began to race, there _had_ to be something they could do. He started to run through a list of things Race would need; it started with staying locked in a room with no cocaine, and ended with finding a way to avoid his father. Though honestly, they were the same thing.

"Sophia," he said suddenly. "We can convince Sophia to cover for him for the whole night. I don't think he'll be leaving before morning."

Itey nodded, his breath full of shudders and when he swallowed, it sounded painful and forced. "I'll call her, but...but I mean, how will _she_ take this? How will Maria take it? Jesus, listen to him, just listen..." Itey seemed panicked, unsure, and he was starting to rant.

Blink shook his head. "Go call her NOW, man. And try not to hear it, okay?"

Itey nodded, wobbling as he stood up, staring into the air before walking down the hall, slowly, and then rushing, as if his personality was changing that very night.

Blink and Spot didn't talk a moment, and finally the thickness of air started to choke Spot, grabbing hold of him, squeezing words out.

"Fuck it..." Spot moaned. "He told me and I didn't believe him."

"It isn't your fault."

"I fucking just...I mean...god damnit..."

"Spot, come on, don't--"

"No, shut up," Spot snapped. "Shut up, okay? We' fucking got involved in this and now it's in fucking deep and I don't know what the fuck..."

Blink grabbed Spot's shoulders. "SPOT. Stop it!"

"Stop _what?"_ Spot shoved him. "I'm not fucking doing ANYTHING. That's the problem! I can't do _anything! "_

The door opened then, and Mush appeared.

"He's calming down," he said. "But you two yelling freaks him out, so knock it the fuck off."

He slammed the door again.

"Damn it," Spot hissed, then again under his breath, "God. Fucking. Damn it!"

Blink gave him an odd look. "We're all upset, Spot," he said.

"You think I don't know that?"

"I mean--I mean we _are_ all upset, but you're scaring me. Almost as much as he is." He nodded towards the door. "I knew you thought Tony was hot; I didn't realize you actually _liked_ him."

"Well, I do. So fucking what? He's straight," Spot said bitterly.

"Why?"

"Because God hates me."

"Why do you _like_ him?" Blink snapped.

Spot hesitated, then shrugged. "Because," he said. "I mean, he--he cooks and he drums and I thought he was an asshole and spoiled but, you know, we met his dad and..."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Kinda reminds me of home." He snorted. "They yanked me out, but somehow I don't think anyone'll do that for Tony."

Blink sighed, and leaned against the door. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Spot looked down at his hands, his skinny, long fingers...everything felt wrong. He felt like this was some sort of dream. Like Race wasn't real and never happened. And it didn't occur to Spot until now that he'd never felt this way about anyone ever before.

"I'm trying to do something," Spot muttered, more to himself than to Blink. "But I just don't know the fuck what."

Blink stared at him, and Spot stared at the floor, and then didn't know if he could stare any longer. Nothing seemed to be what it should be.

The yelling on the other side of the door had stopped, but the sounds that were coming now made Spot feel worse.

He didn't know someone could cry that hard.

He knew what it felt like to want to. But never to actually do it.

The door opened again, and Mush stepped out, shut it after him. Spot looked up, saw that he had four spots of blood on his face, like someone had managed to do damage with fingernails. That was the worst battle wound, but there were other bruises that they could see, and his shoulders slumped and he looked weary and defeated as he sat.

"I'm good at blocking the door," Mush said finally. "I can't handle this part."

"What part?" Blink asked, moving so he could take Mush's hand and give it a comforting squeeze.

"The part where Tony actually realizes what he did." He threw a pointed look back at the door; the sobbing hadn't stopped or even decreased in volume. "Jesus. I thought we'd gotten through this two years ago."

A coherent sentence broke through the crying, or at least, parts of one. "...can't go home again, too messed up... face my family... _Maria..."_ and then the sobs took over again.

"God, I could kill him," Mush said softly. "Where's Itey?"

"Getting help, we hope."

"Good." Mush didn't seem to care what kind of help. "I could fucking _kill_ him..."

The door opened again. David stepped out, shaking his head. "I can't," he said, and his voice broke on the second word. "Mush, I _can't..."_

Spot stood without thinking about it. "Let me."

No one blocked his way this time.

Spot didn't know he was holding his breath until he let it all go in a long sigh when he saw the pathetic, small mess sitting on the floor. Race, huddled in a small ball, was sobbing. Spot doubted that Race would ever cry had he not been under such a dangerous and heavy influence. After all, Race was a lot more like him than he would like to admit; and he never, ever cried.

"Tony," Spot croaked. "Tony, look at me."

"Fuck off," Race's words were distorted because of the crying, and his arms were covering his face. Still, what he said was clear.

Spot was quiet, as he kneeled down in front of Race, and peered down at his forehead. He took Race's arm, trying to pull it away from his face, but Race swatted at him dangerously. Spot ducked, and grabbed Race's arms, pulling them forcefully down to his sides.

It took him awhile to gain the courage to actually _look_ at Race. When he did, he expected...he didn't know, maybe the face of some sort of distorted monster. But no. It was just Race. Just Tony Higgins. His eyes were red, his face looked more hollow and white, and there was a splotch of dry blood under his nose.

"Go ahead," Race spat. "Say it. I know you're just _dying_ to say you were right about me."

Spot just shook his head. "Tony..." he breathed, and then pulled Race close, and hugged him.

At first, Race tensed. Then he eased into the embrace, letting out a long sigh. He wasn't crying anymore. And they just sat there, Race huddled in Spot's arms. He seemed so much smaller.

Spot pulled away slightly, staring into Race's face. His expressions.

They didn't say anything, and Spot kissed him. Small, and slight, but enough.

Race swallowed hard. He didn't know what to say; what happened almost didn't register. He just knew he needed something, he needed to _feel_ something that wasn't a craving, that wasn't the dread of what would happen when he got home, and he didn't think he could leave the room. He couldn't face Mush and David, after all of the times they'd done this, tried to help him, saved him from being rushed to the ER the way Dutchy had been...

"Spot," he said quietly. "I can't... I can't deal with you right now." He was starting to shake again; he was under control enough that he wasn't going to leap to his feet and try and get out, get his hands on more of the stuff, but... He wanted to. He desperately wanted to.

"Don't worry," Spot said. "You don't have to. I'll just sit here with you for awhile, okay?"

Race stared down at the floor for a second. "Okay," he said quietly.

*

B: There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The first and last time you will ever see my name on a story featuring a crying boy.

F: We had a discussing about it. It works because he's high as a kite.

B: And extremely out of his head at the time. Just so we're clear that I still stand firmly by my "no crying boys" policy. But with that aside... They kissed. Feel better?

F: I sure as hell do.

B: Me too, really.

F: Also, as a note--Angry!Mush is willing to protect you from School bullies and/or Gangsters.

B: He only charges a small fee; he's got this thing about protecting the underdog.

F: Mainly because no matter how angry he gets...he's still Mush.

B: For only a few bucks more, he'll bring along Responsible!David to do your homework.

F: Maybe even Drummer!Race will tag along to play loud music in your basement.

B: And then probably pass out, bleeding, in your bathroom. Knowing Drummer!Race.

F: That's Cokeaddict!Dutchy

B: Okay, fine. Drummer!Race will hold secret NarcAnon meetings in your basement. And Cokeaddict!Dutchy will pass out in your bathroom. So long as you're aware someone will be unconscious in there. (Was that Not-In-the-Story-Specs!Muse smirking in the background?)

F: Me and B will be eating popcorn and basking in the orgasm that is Phallic!Blink

B: -drool-

__

Shoutouts!

****

Wand

B: We're clever! Yay!

F: Laugh out loud? That happens to me dayly. Usually because I fall down stairs on a regular basis.

B: And I laugh at her. (Kidding, of course.)

F: (But really not)

B: Well, I only see you online...

F: But if you _did_ see me...

B: Well, only if you aren't hurt. But, er, we're glad you like the story. :-D

F: And you bring joy to our lives with your supa awesome goodness of a reviewness.

****

Hilary & Co.

BitchSnob!Race: Fuck me, why am I always ABUSED??

Asshole!Spot: Because; abused you is remotely related to a chained to the wall you, and that works for everyone.

BithSnob!Race:....[stares]

Asshole!Spot: **smirk**

SuperGay!Mush: Hee. He's never that quiet for that long.

PhallicMike!Blink: The sexual tension in the air is putting me in the mood for some serious...

SuperGay!Mush: Yes??

PhallicMike!Blink: Some serious...

SupgerGay!Mush: YES?

PhallicMike!Blink: Zeppelin! [pulls out mike] come on guys, one go with 'Blackdog'.

SuperGay!Mush: ...I hate you.

BitchSnob!Race: Um, can we get back to _me?_ I'm the freaking main character!

Scholarship!David: Yeah, well, then you want to say what you're _supposed_ to?

BitchSnob!Race: But I don't _do_ the nice, we-love-you thing! It's so... Nice. Make Itey do it.

Sweet!Itey: Why do _I_ have to do it?

BitchSnob!Race: You'll do what I say if you want to be within a 100-metre range of my sister.

Sweet!Itey: Hilary, you wonderful woman, thank you so much for reading the fic.

FlannelShirt!Jack: Hilary, you wonder woman-

BitchSnob!Race: Jack, crawl in a corner and DIE.

FlannelShirt!Jack: ...can your sister crawl in with me?

BitchSnob!Race: AAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!!

Scholarship!David: **whacks Jack** Man, someone get out the sedatives...

BitchSnob!Race: AAAAAAAAAUGH!!

Asshole!Spot: He is _so_ going to kick your ass and I'm _so_ going to fucking watch.

BitchSnob!Race: AAAAAAAAUUUGGGGHH-

[Sweet!Itey 'incospiciously' pushes FlannelShirt!Jack down a flight of stairs]

Everyone: .........

Sweet!Itey: What? It seemed like the best way to deal with that.

BitchSnob!Race: But _I_ wanted to do it!

Scholarship!David: Whine, whine, whine. Where were we?

SuperGay!Mush: Praising Hilary, I think.

Sweet!Itey: Oh, right. Hilary, we think you're great; we adore your reviews and your support and feedback.

Asshole!Spot: And we adore that Race and I snog in all of them. Or at least, _I_ love that.

BitchSnob!Race:...*groan*

Asshole!Spot: That's right, do it again.

Scolarship!David: ANYWAY. The sexual tension is NOT going to be answered in this review because I don't want to watch.

BitchSnob!Race: I'm not _doing_ anything!

Everyone: [snorts]

Scholarship!David: Closing thoughts in the shoutout?

BitchSnob!Race: I hate everyone. Um, except Hilary.

Asshole!Spot: ...ditto. Well, and Race. **smirk**

Flannel!Jack: **leer** So, see you Friday?

Scholarship!David: **coughSARAHcough** Please ignore Jack. He doesn't understand interpersonal relationships, and hitting on you is his way of saying we appreciate you.

SuperGay!Mush: **snogs Blink, looks up** What they all said.

PhallycMike!Blink: Ditto.

All: **cheesy grin**

****

Hotshot

F: Of course Race don't know their names; he's a snobby Bitch!! :)

B: That's why we love him.

F: And Spot as well. You'll note that the sexual tension is getting thicker and thicker and more delicious.

B: No shock there. And really, there's not a lot that can be said about Race's situation.

F: Also, Mr. Higgins? Yeah, dick, but not _EVIL_. Just a dick. A LOVING dick.

B: But really, in his heart, a dick.

F: With hot children.

B: Oh, God, yes.

F: Sophia's doing good--she got Itey on her side.

B: And Maria's too cute to abuse. Isabella's gotten out. So Race... Takes all the abuse. We'd feel bad for him, but otherwise there'd be no fic.

F: Abuse is hot.

B: I think maybe Funkie and I should seek therapy.

****

Stage

B: Did you get into Damn Yankees???

F: If you didn't, I'll track down the director, and we'll bring Race, and then while Race is busy seducing him with his masculine, Italian wiles, I'll wreck havoc.

B: I'll take dirty pictures to blackmail him with while Race is seducing him. I have the fun job.

F: I get to destroy things...*evil smirk of the Spot sort*

B: Oh, and we did actually know that about cocaine and nostrils. We researched for this thing.... Very gross.

F: Also, insane WiggedOut!Race? Yeah, we read up on that too.

B: I am never, ever touching cocaine... But still love WiggedOut!Race.

F: Love Race period. :-D

****

Lisa

B: ::glomps you:: Thank you; your review was incredibly nice and meets a lot to us.

F: You are super sweet and I want to take you home and introduce you to my parents and then we can get married have 3.5 children.

B: Where as I... Can't think of anything to top that. Damn it. But I love you that much. 

F: That's a whole ton.

B: A big ton. Two tons.

F: I want some watermelon.

B: ...Uh, 'k.

****

Thistle

F: Indeed you have told us, but have I told you that you rock my socks?

B: Our socks are thoroughly rocked.

F: Dude, are they ever.

B: There's a kiss for you, though not a big one. Hope it tides you over for awhile...

F: We were pretty happy about it. :-D

B: I've heard _of_ AFI but I'm not sure I've actually _heard_ them. Any songs that've gotten radio play and I might know?

F: A note to you as well, Thistle honey chicky baby, listen to Jack Johnson. He's like some sort of acoustic GOD.

****

Holiday

F: *gasp* You get a free cookie, because the spaghetti dance NEEDS a free cookie.

B: I'm like Maria too. Clarinet is not nearly as much fun as drums _look_, but I don't think I'm coordinated enough to play them.

F: I'm holding band auditions next Thursday. 

B: I am _so_ there. Care to join me?

F: I need a drummer and a bassist.

B: Rockin'.

F: Rollin'.

B: All night long. (Or something.)

F: As long as Slash slides it's way into the mix. Preferably rolling.

B: Wait, are we still talking about _your_ band here?

F:...I wish.

****

Shadowlands

B: We definitely already knew that. Hence the kiss in this chapter.

F: The kiss that was needed with every ounce of my being.

B: She's not kidding. She was going crazy.

F: I was. B was ready to get out the stun virus gun.

B: I have to keep it on standby for every chapter now.

F: I'm keeping on my toes.

B: I'm glad we've made you think Itey is cool. We *heart* Itey around here, really. And Spot back-talking Race's dad... You're right. No discussion needed.

F: Note about Itey's name Gabriel--named after my brother. 

B: ...I didn't know that.

F: You totally did!

B: She lies!!

F: I don't!!

B: She does!! (Please excuse our silliness. We're both quite tired.)

****

Seraph2

B: In answer two your questions: that's in the next chapter, and tiramisu. Respectively.

F: Sophia made lemon meringue pie because I really want some.

B: Along with the tiramisu. Because tiramisu is my favorite.

F: Of course--and me and B have a _thing_ about combining our favorite delicacies. 

B: Like, for example, Spot and Race. Yum. Now _there's_ a sandwich I wouldn't mind filling... um... Did I say that out loud?

F: You did and again I am reminded why I love you.

B: Good luck with the test!

F: Make sure to cheat. I mean, _not_ cheat.

****

Gothee

**GrungeRock!Dutchy, BassPlayer!Itey, Drummer!Race and LeadSinger!Blink wander on stage and begin to jam. Playing Happy birthday.**

[Cheers omit and Funkie and B present the biggest, bestest SpRace cake this side of the Universe]

PhallicMike!Blink: **does suggestive things with microphone** Happy birthday to yooooooou, happy birthday to yooooooou...

All: **still jamming** Happy birthday dear Gothee, happy birthday to yoooooooooooou.

Race: **big finale drum solo**

[Spot orgasm commence riiiggghhhtttttttt _now.]_

B: Now that the band has finished and Spot is dragging Race off to the nearest room with a locking door, thank you for the lovely, wonderfully long review.

F: You are dearly loved and this chapter baby, is dedicated to YOU YOU YOU.

[Race (off screen): YES YES YES]

F: ...er....

B: Pay no attention to the men behind the curtain... Or rather, in the closet... Or, I guess, _out_ of the closet in this case.

F: You made a funny!! :)

B: **bows**

F: *cheers*

Race (off-screen): *moans*

B: **grin** Enjoy the SpRace cake. Mind the oven. :D

F: You also get a Blush Martini to go along with your Slash dessert.

B: ...I guess, put together, Funkie and I are sort of a quadruped...

F:...woah....

B: Um, it's related. Just not to the last thing you said.

F: I'll take this moment to say that GA rocks and is the best GA ever.

B: I'll second that!

****

Cards

F: I've been huggled TWICE!!! [astonishment ensues]

B: She's hug starved, I guess. As for me, I need some home cooked bread. Hint, hint. ;)

F: Bah! Forget that! Make me soup!

B: ...but I'm _hungry._

F: You're so lucky I love you. Because I tellya, I REALLY want soup.

B: **grin**

****

Lee

F: Latin!Spot, for some reason, makes me think of InappropriateUseOfTongue!Spot...

B: Of course he does, darling. _Everything_ makes you think of InappropriateUseOfTongue!Spot.

F: I'm forced to remember how the creation of PhallicMike!Blink came to be. ;)

B: We're glad you like Itey; he's under-appreciated, I think. 'Cause he _is_ a sweetie.

F: Oh he _is!_ I am so glad everyone loves him; he deserves to be loved.

B: Glad you liked the chapter!

F: Yaaaaayyness ensues!

****

Kellyanne

F: Now, see, babycakes, the whole Spot sexy thing? It's a given. :)

B: Hah. And you though you felt bad for Race in the LAST chapter.

F: Spot is good with languages. It's that tongue of his. Have I mentioned that I like his tongue?

B: Sorry about the lack of kinky sex. We were quite tempted.

F: *grumbles* Stupid plot restraint...

B: Alas.

****

Shot Hunter

B: Your crying for Race was a bit preemptive. That's more THIS chapter, I think.

F: And the funny thing is; IT NEVER STOPS! [Thunder]

B: ...We're so mean.

F: So is Race.

B: Fair 'nuff.

F: Get working on that fic, dolly girl!

****

Rumor

F: AH! Yes, B and I are frequent addicts of non-sleep--mainly because of this fic. Actually, _only_ because of this fic. We're fanfic whores.

B: I frequently have sex for fanfic, it's true. Though really more often, I give up sleep, like Funkie said. Oh well. Who needs more than three hours a night? Sleep is what class is for.

F: It's funny because I go "Plleeeassseee" and she goes "Okay!" because you can't say no to addiction! Thumbs up for fanfic heads!

B: Well, what am I _supposed_ to do? It's like Race and his cocaine. So tempting...

F: The first step is admitting.

B: Did that long ago. My problem is I don't _want_ to cure it.

F: It's a healthy addiction. Like falafel. 

B: Mmmm, falafel.

F: I have a theory that Itey's eats that. A lot.

B: And _I_ have a theory that Rumor rules. Especially if she makes me tirimisu, which is my favorite... ;)

F: Also, Rumor, you rock my socks. You know how few people get the sock rockage?

B: I've seen her socks. They're usually utterly unrocked.

F: Exactly.

B: ...which is why we love you. For rocking Funkie's socks.

F: And making tirimisu for B.

****

Shinigami Nanoda

F: I missed you!! Good freaking god, where the hell have you been???

B: Abused!Race and Smug!Spot are really the only thing that get me through my classes...

F: They get me _period_.

B: They could definitely have me.

F: We created them; it's their obligation. [evil smirk]

B: Mwahahahahahahahaha....

F: I LOVE YOU HUN.

B: Ditto.

__

This chapter was celebrated with falafel and mint drops.

And coffee, which B used to keep herself awake when Funkie made her stay up writing until 4 AM the day classes started...

(F: I'm horrible.)


	6. Action Pact

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

DT and coffee

Helps to start day

DT and coffee

Shaking all the way

City's alive

And surprise

So am I

DT and coffee

Get no sleep today

And I feel the light in the night and in the day

And I feel the light when the sky's just mud and gray

And I feel the light when you tell me it's okay

'Cause you're so great and I love you

-Blur, _You're So Great_

**__**

Chapter Six: Action Pact

Too much sun. Head killing him. Did this tune sound familiar? Race groaned. For awhile, he didn't remember anything about the night before, and he reveled in that for a good five seconds before fully realizing what had happened.

He swore into the pillow; where was he sleeping?...Blink's house, right? He raised his head slightly, and saw that their was a small stain of blood on the already stained, old pillow. He touched underneath his nose. He seemed to have stopped bleeding, but the cake of dry blood brought back more memories than he could handle.

"Fuck!" he burst out, slamming his fist into the pillow. "Fuck fuck fuck..."

"Mmmph?"

He swiveled around and saw that, sitting on a ragged desk chair, pulled up next to the bed, was Spot. He looked tired--outright exhausted--and had clearly been dozing. "You ok, Tony?"

Race stared at him. "Why... Why are you....?"

"Someone had to stay with you, Mush said. Make sure you didn't leave."

"Yeah." Race sat up the rest of the way, leant back against the wall. "Fuck," he said again.

"No kidding." Spot nodded, yawning, and he rubbed his eyes furiously. "Jesus...uh...how was your sleep?"

"I don't know..." Race shook his head, and then his eyes widened. "Dutchy! How's Dutchy?"

Spot shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't gotten a word from them yet."

"How can you be so _calm?"_

"Because if he was dead, smart boy, they'd have called me." Spot looked around the room, and blinked against the light. "How you doin'?"

Race took a moment to answer. Blurs of the night before started to swarm together in his brain, making one, huge and ugly mess. "I...I don't even know how to answer that anymore."

"Don't I know the tune of _that_ song."

"You do?"

Spot shrugged. "Not... Not cocaine. But I've definitely had my whole life turned upside down, y'know?" He shrugged. "I don't know if it's the same, but..."

"What happened?"

Spot hesitated. On the one hand, the only people who knew were the ones who'd been involved, the authorities, and Jack. On the other hand, this was Tony, and if anyone in the world could sympathize with him, that's who it would be.

He hoped.

"Psychotic parents," he said finally. "Clinically."

Race looked at Spot with an unreadable expression. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Shit...so...so, then, they took you away? And put you in Jack's house?"

Spot shook his head. "Nah, they gave me three other houses full of shit-faced fuckers first." Spot laughed a bit. "My second one, they were like, this huge group of homophobes. I had a good time with them sometimes."

Race grinned. "You would. What'd you do?"

"What _didn't_ I do?"

"Come on." Race reached his hand out, touched Spot's knee. Race seemed to think nothing of it, but Spot gulped when Race pulled away. The feeling of the spot he touched lingered. "Tell me."

"Uh, well My mom was just wacko, really. But Dad... Jesus. He was a sick sonofabitch." Spot actually shuddered. "I don't like to think about that part, okay? But... Christ, he got caught when I was, like, thirteen. Locked up in an asylum, can't put a psychopath in jail. And a year or two later they realized Mom wasn't exactly child-raising material, yanked me out, dropped me into the first place.

"Real religious people. Not... Not bad people, just not my type."

"Said grace a lot?" Race asked, glad to have something to think about other than his own problems.

"Yeah. I was a little much for them, I guess, still too fucked up from my parents. Came out of the closet, and they fucking _begged_ to get me moved somewhere else. And _they_ weren't even the homophobes."

"What were the homophobes like?"

Spot laughed again, but it was so bitter and choked sounding it was barely a laugh. Race knew what this was. Laughing always made things feel easier, even a bit. "Well, their son was totally gay. I mean, take my word for it."

Race looked skeptical. "How can he be gay if he's a homophobe?"

"Ask _him_. Anyway, he was...he was a real shit, he..." Spot wasn't laughing anymore. "He liked to joke around with me. Y'know?"

"...what did he do?"

"Not a lot. I'm not a fucking pussy, but he was still twice my size." 

"Oh." Race paused, then realized what that meant. "Oh. Jesus Christ..."

"Yeah, well, between that and the fucking mind games--Christ, he screwed with my head--god, I was there for a _year._ That screwed me up pretty bad. I'm still pretty... Not exactly as comfortable with PDAs as Mush and Blink. You know?"

"Understandable."

"Then there was the typical, social worker's nightmare home. Single mom on welfare, looking to bring in more money with more kids. No food in the house, electricity going on and off at random when she didn't pay her bills, and six other kids to right with. But hell, she's the reason I didn't end up on drugs--I mean, the money she got to deal with us had to go _somewhere_ and I fucking _will not_ end up like her."

He paused, realizing what he said. "Oh, shit, Tony. I didn't mean it like that, you're not--"

"Don't worry," Race snapped, then touched Spot's knee again. "Don't worry, shit, it's true. It's true, which is why I hate it."

Spot nodded after a moment, shaking his head as he looked at Race's hand on his knee. Race pulled away again, and Spot slumped his shoulders slightly. He had to remember, he was just a guy to straight Race. Not a romantic prospect.

"Keep going," Race mumbled.

"Not much else," Spot added. "She didn't pay much attention to me. 'Cept this one time, she started ragging on me about the way I looked."

"The way you looked?" Race asked, confused. "Why?"

"You know. Pretty boy, girly-face...that sort of thing. She went kind of nuts, it was... _fucked up_. I think she thought I was this guy she knew or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She wasn't his biggest fan, turns out. _That_ was a fun night."

"I'll bet."

"After that I finally got put in Jack's house. Not exactly a nuclear family, but hell... He'd been fostered there as a kid, when his dad was put in jail, and after a few years she adopted him. Took me in, Jack's the only foster-sib I've ever had who I didn't want to kill."

"You don't?"

"Yeah, you'd never guess, huh?" Spot gave a short laugh. "I'm not real good at being nice to people. Something about the way I was raised."

"Yeah, fucking _tell_ me about it." He swallowed. "Guess I shouldn't complain. Sorry."

"Don't be. I saw your dad. I swear, your dad and mine should fucking play golf together."

"Tennis doubles."

"Yeah. I bet they'd kick ass. Literally kill the competition. Well, my dad anyway. Dunno about yours."

Race didn't say anything about that.

"So," Race said quickly, changing the topic. "So, are... I dunno, are you and Jack actually _close,_ or do you just tolerate him? 'Cause, no offense, he's like your mother." Race paused. "Well, not your _actual_ mother--"

"I know what you meant." Spot smiled, fondly. It almost threw Race off, but he chose to ignore the meaning. "Uh Jack is..." Spot seemed to try and find the words, failing. "Well, yeah...he's...he's a good guy."

Ah. Spot speak for 'I love him'. Race understood that. "So he's like a brother?"

"Never had one."

"But if you did?"

Spot grinned at the floor, suddenly avoiding Race's eyes. "Yeah. If I did, he'd be something like Jack."

It was ironic, that at that precise moment, Jack stormed into the room.

"You're awake," Jack snapped.

"Yeah." Race didn't want to do this. He knew that his friends would be unspeakably angry at him; yes, they'd support him and help him and get over it, but there was no way they could _not_ be angry at him for backsliding like that, giving in to the weakness. For letting Dutchy OD like that, when he'd gone to stop him, for getting so caught up that all he could think about was what he _wanted._

"How's Dutchy?" he added.

"Still alive." Race sensed a silent, 'no thanks to you,' in the air.

"Jack," Spot said.

Jack gave him a look, then shrugged. "Whatever. He's still under observation. Gonna get checked into rehab this afternoon, probably face charges for possession. He's freaked out."

"Yeah, that happens." Race ran a hand through his hair, and finally stood. "Okay. I should get the groveling for forgiveness over."

"I don't want to hear it," Jack snapped, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. "You want honesty? I just don't want to hear anything from you right now."

"Jack." Spot glared, and Race was startled by how different he looked. Moments earlier, he'd been...almost gentle. And now, the scowl was back, the hardness was back. It was like gentle Spot had never happened. Spot would probably be glad to hear that.

"Don't talk." Jack raised his hands, and started shaking his head. "Things are _fucked."_

Then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath. Race swore, and stared down at the mattress under him. "Kill me now, really. I'll get back in bed and everything."

"Don't be an idiot." Spot grabbed his shoulder. "Come on."

"God, I can't--I mean, fuck, I _can't_ do this." He gave a short, _very_ bitter bark of laughter. "Give me a fucking line and I can do it no problem."

"Shut up, _Midgito_, don't talk like that. You're going to get through this. You're gonna grovel like you said, and David and Mush are pushovers and they'll forgive you, and as for everyone else..." He shrugged. "They'll get over it."

"My family won't. _I_ won't."

"You will."

"No I fucking _won't!"_ Race half-yelled. "I'm a fucking _addict,_ Spot. I don't _get_ over things like this, I don't--Christ, I _do_ need a fucking line."

"Well, you ain't getting one." Spot sharply smacked the back of Race's head.

"Ouch! Fuck you!"

"I'll do it again if you keep talking about fucking yourself up anymore." Spot held his arm up, a threatening look in his eyes. "I'm serious, and the next one'll fucking _hurt."_

"This one hurt..." Race mumbled.

"Come _on_, Tony." Spot grabbed Race's arm, and yanked. Race tumbled slightly away from the bed, and started glowering at Spot. "Don't look at me like that. _I_ didn't do a goddamned thing."

After a few more moments of Race being as difficult as he could find humanly possible, they were finally out the door, and Spot was leading him by his arm. When they found the living room, Race didn't have a moment to look at anyone because Mush grabbed him.

He'd been shoved into walls enough times by his dad that reacting was reflex, he clenched his muscles and winced and avoided looking in to Mush's face, and eventually Mush let his shirt go.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Mush spat. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"He wasn't," David snapped from a chair. "He fucking _wasn't_. Christ, Tony, you don't need cocaine, you want to die I'll kill you my_self!"_

"It's okay, I'll probably just shoot my brains away tonight anyway," Race replied, hoping to lighten the mood. He wasn't _serious_, but he forgot that it wasn't a good time to try to lighten the mood.

"Oh!" Mush pulled away. "Don't fucking _SAY_ that!"

"Mush, I wasn't..."

"You said you were doing better!" Mush pointed a finger in Race's face. "And... and Jesus, Tony, I know that you weren't exactly Suzanne Somers, but I thought you were fucking FUNCTIONING."

"I AM!" Race exclaimed, then he breathed. "I. _am_... as much as I can anyway. And I came to apologize, so LET me."

David was shaking his head at him, his face full of disappointment. Which was the last thing that Tony wanted. "Davey,_ don't."_

"Don't _what?_ Don't fucking tell you what a moron you're being? Because you fucking _are,_ and I can't stand the _sight_ of you right now, and the only reason I'm not storming out is because--because--fuck, I don't even know _why!"_

"Because you know _I_ know I fucked up and that I'm sorry." He swallowed hard a few times, and finally raised his eyes and looked at his friends. He didn't like what he saw; Mush and David were angrier than he'd ever seen them, and he didn't have a point of reference for the others, but Blink and Jack definitely looked nearly _as_ angry. Itey looked on with pity. Spot was the only one who didn't seem to be holding him in judgement, and he was grateful for _someone's_ support. Or however much support Spot was willing to provide.

"Christ, I--I wanted to help, you guys _have_ to believe that, Dutchy had all the symptoms and I'm kind of hypersensative to them, and I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I... I didn't mean to..." He dropped his gaze again. "Jesus, I'm pathetic."

He expected a roar of... agreement? Anger? Anything but the silence that followed. He didn't like it much better, but then he heard Itey's voice and felt almost as if God was cutting him a small sort of break.

"It really isn't your fault, if you think about it..." Itey mused, as if talking to himself. "Because...well, if you weren't there, he would have died. And it's not like any of us were jumping to help. We were too clueless." Itey cleared his throat; his voice had started to crack. "I mean, you shouldn't have gone, because there was coke there and... and you should have resisted all the temptation, but then again, coke addicts are serious and I'm sure it wasn't like it was easy."

And there was another quiet, and finally Mush turned around, stalked away and dropped onto the couch next to Blink. "Yeah," Blink muttered. "Yeah, we shoulda... We shoulda seen Dutchy was more messed up than we thought."

"And he would have _died,"_ Itey repeated. "I mean, couldn't he have?"

"Yeah." That was one thing Race knew for sure. "Yeah, side effects include heart attack and stroke, coma, and your heart can stop and..." He glanced around the room. "Jesus, don't look at me like that; they cram that kind of thing down your throat in rehab. I'm a fuck up, it's not like I didn't _know_ that last night. I just..."

"Just what?" Jack snarled.

"Just that I'm a fucking _addict_, okay? Effects don't matter. Friends and family don't fucking matter. _Nothing matters!"_ He was screaming now. "Nothing matters because you can't say no, you just fucking _can't_ and if you've never done it you _don't_ know what it's like, and yes, I fucked up, but don't _treat_ me like I don't know it!"

Jack didn't seem to be listening. It was like he was fighting some sort of internal struggle, and finally he lost. "You just bring fucking anarchy everywhere you go, don't you?! Ever since you showed up, it's like one fucking, weird disaster after another!"

"Don't be melodramatic," Spot said from his place against the wall. "It's not like you're a bed of roses all the time either."

"And don't you turn this around on me just because you want to fuck him!" Jack yelled. "It ain't like you're defending him 'cause you actually LIKE him."

Jack had gone too far. He knew it, from the way his face fell. He covered by changing the topic and went off-hand.

"Besides, whatever the hell happens to _him,"_ he said, and spat 'him,' as though it was a dirty word, "Dutchy's in a fucking _lot_ of trouble. Do you know how much of that shit it _takes_ to knock yourself unconscious?"

"I do, actually," Race snapped back. "You want me to start quoting numbers, Jacky boy?" It didn't even occur to him to wonder when he'd picked up Spot's term of endearment for Jack. Or term of whatever it was.

"Shut the fuck up!" Jack yelled. "No one here feels bad for you, we've got a friend, a _real_ goddamned _friend_ who's facing more money than he can pay, or real fucking jail time, or both!"

"And you think I don't know what that's like?" Race yelled back. "I fucking _went through it_, I know _exactly_ how fucking scared _Dutchy_ is right now, so I don't exactly give a damn about the rest of you!"

"Well, fuck you too," Mush snapped.

"And unlike you," Jack continued, his voice lowering to a hiss, "we can't all afford to _pay_ those fines. And courts aren't quite as nice to _us_ as they are to spoiled kids whose parents can pay them off. Or did you forget we're not from your part of town?"

"Don't bring my family into this." Race's voice was shuddering, and low, and almost dangerous sounding. "I _know_ I'm a snob. I know it. But the reason I get off easy isn't a reason I'm exactly _proud_ of! And I'm the only one who knows what Dutchy is going through right now, so you just shut your _fucking mouth!"_

Only Mush would respond. "Things are different this time, Tony. You _don't_ know."

"I do, " Race continued. "And I don't care if you hate me for it. Do whatever the hell you want."

"Won't be a problem," Jack said under his breath.

"Jack," Itey and Spot said this at the time same time.

Blink and David hadn't said a word for a long while, but their expressions were completely opposite.

David still looked upset, but not as angry as he had before, where Blink looked, if anything, angrier. There was another awkward pause, and finally David muttered, "Yeah, yeah. He's fucking right; none of us have ever done coke or faced jail time and he has, so he's right about that."

"Yeah, but did he fucking _get_ sent to," Blink smirked as he said it, "juvey?"

"No," Race snapped. "I fucking didn't, okay? I got a slap on the wrist; I was also only fifteen and Dutchy's nearly eighteen and yeah, my family can fucking pay fines and his can't. So I got off easy, I didn't _ask_ to, I didn't _deserve_ to, but I also didn't _know_ that was what was going to happen. 

"And when you come to in a fucking _hospital_ you don't--you don't think about _anything_ except how much you need a hit. And you realize that you've been caught, and you're in trouble, and you can't calm down because you _need a fucking hit_, and you realize that your friends are going to hate you and you can't figure out how to deal with them because you _need a fucking hit_, and your family is so ashamed of you and you can't deal with them because you _need a fucking hit_, and you can't even realize that that's what you're trying to _figure out_ because you just _need a goddamned hit!"_ He degenerated into screaming again for a minute, and banged his fist into a wall the wall hard enough to make his knuckles bleed, then seemed to go limp against the wall and started shaking.

"Oh, Christ," he said in a very small voice. "Oh, Jesus Christ, I just..."

No one knew what to say, when the realization of Race's words sunk in. They were in over their heads, drowning in something that they hadn't even swam in to begin with. Race knew that.

Finally, Spot broke the silence.

"Need a fuckin' hit?" Spot suggested.

There was a pause and then Race snorted, and then Itey snickered. Then David had to smirk, biting his tongue, but he laughed, and once David laughed, other people laughed, because David had a really girly laugh.

"So what do we do?" Mush asked finally, and reached over to take Blink's hand. Now, Blink mostly just looked confused.

"How should I know?" Race asked. "Right now I'm just concentrating on not remembering my dealer's number."

"Tony," David said, half-warningly.

"Well, it's not like I kept it on speed dial on my cell or anything." He gave David a wry look, then his expression changed and he looked like someone had slapped him. "My cell. My _family_. Oh, Christ, I wasn't supposed to be gone all night, my Dad is gonna--"

"Sophia covered for you," Itey interrupted.

"What?"

"Last night, I... I kind of called and asked her to cover for you for the night."

"You... You TOLD HER what I did? Oh Jesus--"

"No, I didn't. Um, please don't kill me, but I lied to her. I, uh, said you were too drunk to go home and she agreed to cover for you, um, if I take her out on Friday, so... Please don't kill me?"

"For lying to her or for taking her out?"

"Either one."

"Yeah." Race paused. "Yeah, thanks. But Christ--I'm dead. I'm caught. They give me a drug test once a week." His voice sounded oddly calm and flat, even to him.

"Tell the truth," Blink spoke up. Everyone gave him an odd look, probably because he hadn't spoken in so long, and also because of what he'd said. "I mean, he's gonna know anyway, so why prolong the pain?"

"That is SO..." Race rolled his eyes, and then stopped. He made a confused face, and then seemed to figure out a particularly difficult equation in his head. "Blink," Race said. "I'll TELL DAD."

"...yeah. That's what I said."

"Shit, why didn't I think of that?"

"I...don't know?"

"You're a GENIUS."

"Thank you?"

"Tony?" David asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you going to _do?_ I'm not exactly willing to leave you on your own now."

"Then drive me home," Race responded quickly. "Because everything WILL be fine. I fucking need a hit, I fucking hate my life, and I'm fucking sorry to EVERYONE." He shot a look at Jack. "But it'll be fine, I swear to fucking god."

"Tony?" Mush asked, sounding surprised.

"No, I mean it. I can–Never mind. My family is fucked up, but I can talk to my dad. It'll be fine."

"Um, not to judge your family or anything," Itey said slowly, "but are you sure that talking to your dad is the best idea? I mean, he doesn't, um, seem like he'd take it well."

"Judge my parents all you want, just behave yourself with my little sister!" But he actually managed a smile, though it looked a little like he was still getting hysterical. "Seriously, my family politics are messed up beyond belief, and you wouldn't believe the sort of shit that goes on--"

"I think we got a pretty good idea."

"You really don't, but it's okay." He took a deep breath. "God_damn,_ I could use a line. But it's fine. I'm gonna wash my face, okay?"

"Ah HA. No." Spot lifted himself from his spot against the wall. "Not without someone watching you."

"I'm just washing my face."

"And I'm recalling a previous comment about fucking hits and wanting them," Spot shot back. "We're not stupid."

"I was hoping you were." Race's hands were shaking, and his voice was getting wobbly. "Jeeeesuuuuus..."

"I'll come," Mush said from the couch. He turned to Blink, and they looked at each other for a while before kissing, exchanging words in their glances, and finally he walked over to Spot and Race.

"Jeessuuss Christ."

"Yeah, come on Tony." Mush and Spot led Race out of the room. For about the millionth time that night, there was silence.

Until Jack turned to Itey. "Did she really ask you to take her out Friday night?"

*

Race spent the drive home riding shotgun in Mush's van, oddly hyper and a little shaky. He was alternating between mumbling to himself about being a dead man and about things being fine, and he was clearly having a craving, and spent a few seconds banging his head against the window, until Mush pulled over and yelled at him. After that he settled for tapping his fingers against the dash, which Mush found irritating, but because Race wasn't hurting himself didn't stop him.

Mush pulled up outside Race's house. "You want moral support or anything?" he asked.

"Don't I _wish._ But I gotta do this on my own, I think. I'll be fine."

"Call me as soon as you can."

"I probably won't be allowed to use the phone for a few months. But I'll see you Monday, unless I'm dead or something."

"Tony, don't joke."

"Yeah, can't help it. And, um, Mushee? Thank you for taking care of me." He said it really fast, but he managed to look Mush in the eye as he said it.

"Hey. That's what friends _do,_ Tony. Just don't ever, _ever_ fucking make me do it again."

"So...we _are_ still friends, right?" Race hated the desperation in his voice. But he needed to know. He may have lost every friend he'd ever had in a single night. Right now, he wanted anything to prove him wrong, when he was so sure he was right.

Mush smiled, in spite of the situation. "Tony...I'll _always_ be your friend, okay? And so will Davey and... and the others. They can't help it now, you have something about you."

"Stupidity?"

"Yes, but..." Mush shrugged. "I love you, okay?"

Race reddened. "I'm getting out now."

"You fucked me over last night."

"Let me ouuuuuut."

"I deserve it to hear it."

"MUSH."

"Say it."

Race glowered. "I hate you."

"No you don't! You..."

"...."

"YOU..."

"...loveyou."

"HAH." Mush smacked the back of his head. "I've got my eye on you, okay?...and I'm still pissed."

"I know..." Race nodded his head back and forth, biting his lip. "Fuuuuck..."

"Just try and suck it up, and get in there. And don't fucking screw up."

"Well, at least I've stopped hearing things," Race said. "And my eyes are okay. And I'm not shaking at the moment." He stopped listing things, gave Mush an attempt at a smile that failed miserably, and got out of the car. The walk up the path to the door felt incredibly long and he dragged his feet. His father was waiting inside.

"Good morning, Racetrack. That must have been quite some study group."

"You have no idea," Race answered. "I--sir--I've got to talk to you."

His father raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I need to confess. And apologize." He dropped his gaze to the floor, though he didn't let his shoulders slump. "I broke a lot of rules last night, and I think I ruined my life. I just wanted you to hear it from me before--" he faltered for the first time, "before you get the test results."

His father stared at him, and Race had to hand it to himself; Paulo Higgins had probably _never_ looked astonished in his life. And that almost made Race feel better. Because maybe his father had had better expectations of him than Race had thought he head.

Then the astonishment left, and was followed by pure anger.

"WHAT?" His voice rumbled. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"I...I caved in."

"Who had it?" His father's eyes narrowed. Race almost lied, almost couldn't say the name. But part of his father knowing who it was, was part of Race helping Dutchy out of the entire freaking mess.

"Dutchy."

"Who?"

"...Hans."

Mr. Higgins stood, and grabbed Race's shoulder, clenching hard. "Are you trying to tell me you got _high_ last night, Racetrack?"

"...yes, sir. I did."

"With another boy?"

"Yes, sir. I did."

"And you made your sister LIE to me, to get you into a party that had DRUGS?"

"No, sir; I was too busy being high to do that. One of my friends," though this time he didn't specify who, because he _did_ want Itey and Sophia to be happy, "lied to _her._ She didn't know. Sir."

"And you knew?"

"No, sir. I mean--I knew I was disobeying you, going to the party at all. But I didn't know about the drugs. I wouldn't have gone if I'd known."

"And why should I believe that?"

Race couldn't believe how calm his father sounded, though he suspected it was a front, that his father was waiting to hear the whole story before he lost his temper or his mind. "You should believe it because I came to you first, sir, and I'm not trying to hide anything I did."

Race knew he had his father there, now Mr. Higgins had to believe him. Because he _had _come to him first and he _was_ telling the truth and there was no real reason to doubt him at all. Now that Race thought about it, he was always honest with his father.

"Racetrack," his father said, and Race couldn't quite pinpoint what sort of emotion was in his father's voice. All that was there was usually anger. And should there ever be anything else, Race would be damned if he knew what it was.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are we going to go in circles?"

Race was taken aback. His father didn't ask questions. Not like that. "What?"

"Are. We... going to go in circles?"

"I'd rather not, sir. This is... I'm not proud of myself or what I did. I hate myself for it--I hope you'll believe that too. And I hate admitting that you were right, but you were, about Dutchy. He was on drugs, it wasn't just a nosebleed, and I didn't know at the time. I'll tell you everything that happened, just--just, could I please sit down? I'm still shaky."

"No," his father said vehemently. "You may not sit down; you may not come inside. The only reason I haven't thrown you back out is because you _are_ telling me, and you'd damn well _better_ be being honest."

Race swallowed hard and staggered over to the wall, let it hold some of his weight, because while he didn't want to show weakness in front of his father, he _was_ shaking now, both from nerves and from a craving. "Yes, sir," he managed to say.

"Good. Now start talking. Start at the beginning."

"Well, sir, I...I've pretty much told you everything. I was at the party...and my friend had drugs. And I'm being honest, I went to him because I was worried. Not because I wanted a hit." He looked strongly at his father. "I did not go to him because I was looking to get high."

His father looked skeptical.

"Don't believe me, then, but it's true." Race continued, "And then I gave into the temptation. And my friend is in the hospital, and facing court and Juvey, and he...he's in a lot more hot water than I ever was. I got out easy."

"Yes, you did."

"Sir--Dad--I have to ask. Did you, that is, did I get off so easy because of... Of you?"

His father didn't look amused. "That is not an appropriate question."

"Is it because we have money? Because I was young? Or because of _you?"_ he asked again.

"You are treading in dangerous waters now, young man. You _will_ watch your mouth and not question me when I tell you not to."

Race nodded. That was about all he needed to hear to know the truth, anyway. "I'm sorry, sir," he said softly. "For all of the trouble I've caused for you and Mama and everyone else."

His father didn't react for a minute, and finally stood aside. "Get inside," he said, his voice still devoid of emotion.

He knew it was his imagination, but still felt as if he'd stepped into an igloo--everyone was waiting for him in the main floor sitting room. And finally, when he re-told the events of the night before, every single expression made Race hate himself even more than he already did.

His mother was crying. It was something she was not unknown to do, but Race was so familiar with a time when he used to be the one who caused it, that he the last thing he wanted to see was his mother crying like old times.

Sophia looked overthrown with guilt, but when she and Race made eye contact, she turned angry, and looked away from him, shaking her head.

Of course, Isabella had arrived the night before. Tall, stern Isabella, who never cut Race a break, always judging him. He could already hear the words she'd say, 'You haven't changed, have you?' in that tight, angry voice.

And Maria...God, Maria.

Maria threw one look at him after he finished, and then her entire face fell, she looked like her knight in shining armor had been killed by a dragon. She stood quickly and ran from the room, and though their house was large, echoes carried through it easily. He just wished he couldn't hear her crying.

"I'm sorry," he finished quickly. "I'm so sorry."

"Go away," Isabella said flatly. "Get out of my sight."

He nodded; he deserved her anger. She had been planning to defend him and his friends, after all, and he'd gone and screwed up. Badly. So he stood, threw his family one last desperate look, and half-ran up the two floors to his room.

As he climbed the steps, he could hear Maria in her room, two doors down from his. Her door was closed, and he knew what that meant--when Maria closed her door, you didn't go near her.

He contemplated going to speak with her, but he knew that it wouldn't help her any. Not now. He'd done it again; it'd taken so long to regain the family's trust, to make them love him the way they once did. Maria had been the first to accept him.

Now it had all come crashing down around him. All of it.

What made everything worse was how badly he still needed that fucking hit.

He slipped into his room, shut the door behind him, and sat down on his desk chair. He was alone now, which was remarkable; you weren't supposed to leave addicts alone. But he somehow didn't think he'd get very far if he did try and go get a hit, and as much as he wanted one, he was thinking clearly enough that he also _didn't_ want one.

At least this time he knew he _could_ get through it; he _could_ survive. And Mush didn't hate him, so David probably didn't. And for some reason, he was sure Spot didn't either...

...And he abruptly remembered Spot had kissed him, and his eyes went wide and he needed the hit more than ever. Spot had _kissed_ him. He'd know, sort of objectively, that Spot had a thing for him; there was no question about that. But Spot had actually _kissed_ him.

And the part that had him the most freaked out was that he wasn't angry at Spot for it.

In an odd mix of frantic calm, Race tried to remember if he'd kissed Spot back. For some reason it was irrelevant, but Race wanted to believe that it wasn't. All he could fathom now was that he'd let Spot kiss him out of comfort. Because he needed...well, he'd needed a kiss.

"I can't honestly..." Race muttered leaning back into his chair. "Chrissake, as if I don't have enough..."

He knew how Spot felt about him. And if he hadn't before, Jack had made it pretty damn obvious in his outbursts earlier. But still, even with knowing, he didn't actually _believe_ it until now. Not even when Spot told him everything...

...oh. Right. Spot told him _everything_.

What _was_ Spot to him anyway? How did he feel? He was straight. He'd always been straight. Girls frequently tried to sleep with him, and he didn't mind.

Well, Race had never actually slept with a girl before, because...

Because...

Because, after all, he _had_ had a religious upbringing, and that was probably why. He'd have felt too guilty, he decided. After all, he'd done his fair share of random party hookups but hadn't ever made it too much past making out.

But he'd never had a serious girlfriend.

He decided not to think about it. It was, for some reason, easier to think about how much he would have killed for a line of cocaine. So he stared out the window and tried to make his mind blank. It didn't work.

His door swung open without the ceremony of even a knock, and he expected either his father or Isabella, but was wrong. Sophia stood there, looking incredibly pissed off.

"You ASSHOLE!" she yelled. "You--you--you know I really liked Gabriel? We talked for half an hour on the phone, and he's _really_ sweet, and I _really_ think we'd have been _really_ good together and now there's no fucking way I'll be allowed _near_ him, and he fucking _lied_ to me and I don't blame him, I blame you, so how fucking _dare_ you?!"

Race groaned, and Sophia slammed the door shut behind her with her foot. "And don't make it sound like _I'm_ the one who's--"

"_Rosetta_, stop--"

"DON'T call me that!"

Normally, Race would have been hurt that she'd snapped at him not to use the family's nickname for their 'beautiful-one', but he was more used to Sophia's temper than any other person in the house. No one else could anger Sophia like Race could. They'd had their fair share of fights, and this was probably the eighth time she'd told him not to call her _'Rosetta'_.

But this time, he deserved it. This time, he'd fucked up. Sophia didn't date. Boys never liked her for _her_. Race knew it really meant something that she'd taken the step to like Itey.

He'd ruined it.

But he would fix it. He'd fix everything.

"Sophia," he said quietly. "I fucked up. I really--I know I did. And I want to make it right and I'm going to try and make it right, but it's going to take time and I'm sorry. Really sorry, and I know it doesn't mean anything just to say it, but... But give me time, okay? I'll prove it to you."

She crossed her arms. "How?"

"I'm going to make sure that you and Itey--Gabe--have the best time in your lives when you go out on Friday. And I have no idea how I'm going to do it yet, but I will. Because, how weird is this, I actually _want_ you two to be together. You'd be good together."

"We would?"

"Yeah. He's sweet and you're a brat. He'd indulge you."

She glared. "You don't get to call _me_ a brat today, fuckup."

Race winced. "I really deserved that."

"Yeah, you really did."

"And don't swear."

Sophia snorted, and then Race stood, taking her hands in his. "_Rosetta_." She rolled her eyes. "_Rosetta_, look at me."

When she did, he could tell her attempt at staying angry with him was deteriorating. "What?" she muttered.

"I'll make things right, okay? You and Gabriel will go out and have a great time and it'll make up for everything."

Sophia's eyes softened. "It's not _just_ because of Gabe. I'm worried about you too, you know."

Race smiled, and kissed her forehead. "I know..." He pulled back and observed his sister. "You _are_ beautiful, you know."

She grinned. "Yeah, Gabe told me."

"Don't cross the line."

"Told me I was _stunning_."

"Stop it."

"He told me about all of the things he wants to do with my gorgeous body."

"He fucking well did _not."_

"No, he didn't. But it makes you crazy that I'm not a baby anymore, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

She smirked. "Well, you're only a year older than I am, Tony. You shouldn't think you're such an adult either."

"I have a lot more experience than you do, _Rosetta_."

"Only because you're a screw up."

"Yeah, pretty much. But I _do_ have it, and hey--I don't want you to end up as screwed up as I am. I care about you, and I can't stand the thought of some boy hurting you."

She stared at him for a second, then answered coldly, "Tony, _you_ hurt me. You hurt us all."

That one hurt. Mainly because, again, he deserved it. "I know..." he said quietly, nodding down at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Of course you're sorry. But we trusted you. You said you wouldn't do this anymore, Tony."

"I know." Race looked at her again. She was taller than he was, and usually he was still easily taken as the older brother, but right now, he felt very young, and still too old.

He _was_ very young. But he'd still been too old.

"I won't ever hurt you again, Sophia."

"I wish I could believe that."

"I won't," he swore. "I won't, and no one else will either."

"Tony, life can hurt, and people can hurt you, and part of living is getting over the hurt and moving on." She touched his cheek. "I think it's time you started to do that."

"Get over it? Get over _this?_ I can't, Sophia." It was the gentler version of what he'd told his friend earlier. "I can't forget, because now there's this piece of me that's _always_ craving another hit, and that's what's going on in my mind now. I'm scared, _Rosetta_," he admitted. "I don't want to hurt anyone else, ever, and I don't want to hurt myself. But that part of me doesn't think, it just reacts, and I'm really _scared."_

"Scared?" she asked quietly.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I--if there was a way for me to get my hands on coke right now, I would do it."

She looked a bit shocked, but nodded. "Well, you can't," she said. "I won't _let_ you."

"Good." He gave her a serious look. "I'll hold you to that. Thank you."

"I haven't forgiven you, you know."

"No, but you will sooner than anyone else. I know you, _Rosetta."_

"Shut up." She smiled. "Moron."

Then he hugged her. Sophia and Race did not hug. They badgered, they argued, they yelled, and Race kissed her forehead, sometimes almost comically. But they never hugged.

The fact that he did meant enough to Sophia that she almost wanted to cry. But, like Race, she never cried.

But she did hug him back. Even though they never did that either.

*

Race stood nervously outside his father's office door. It was near midnight and the rest of his family was in bed, but his father's hours were, at best, unpredictable. He didn't want to be standing there, he didn't want to have this next conversation, but he also didn't have much of a choice.

He'd failed Dutchy, he'd failed his family, he'd failed himself. He had to put things right somehow, and this seemed to be the only way.

Nervously, he knocked on the office door.

It seemed like hours that he waited for any sort of confirmation that he'd been heard. Finally, he heard his father's work voice, the booming, scary and almost criminal (Race had to smirk at that) bellow answer him.

"Come in."

Race swallowed, and slowly opened the door, fidgeting his fingers, the need for a line popping up once more.

His father's office was beautiful, and well-furnished, and the most stereotypical part about him. It could have been a room from _The Godfather_. His father was on the phone, talking in fast Italian, swearing excessively, and finally laughing.

He glanced up and waved a hand at Race to sit down, as though he was there on business and not as his son--though Race reminded himself nervously that that was the point--and finished his conversation. "Well?" he asked finally, seriously, after hanging up the phone.

All of the children who grew up in the Higgins's household knew the rules that went with their father's work very well. You didn't mention it to anyone, ever. You didn't talk about it with each other, or ask him about it. And you never, ever interrupted him in his office unless you were there for some sort of business.

Race had always thought that was some sort of joke. But he wasn't joking now.

"I asked you a question earlier, sir. About what happened when I was in court."

His father waited for him to continue without acknowledging.

"And I only ask because--because I know that, whether it happened or not, you _do_ have the, um, resources to arrange... Things like that."

His father leaned forward, linking his fingers through each other, raising his eyebrows. Still, he didn't say anything.

"And...and my friend, _Dutchy."_ Race made a point of keeping Dutchy's nickname in the draw, "Dutchy's going to... going to be in a lot of trouble. Sir. And... I was wondering if we could... help him out."

Race was going out on a limb. For years, his father had tried to start him up on the family business. One childhood memory consisted of his father teaching Race how to shoot a man from all the way across the room, using his 'Uncle Vinnie' as an example. Race hadn't shot him, of course.

He should have been a lot more fucked up by that than he was. Or maybe it was the source of all of his problems. Race didn't know. But when your father was in the mob, you'd be surprised by how quickly you got used to it.

You weren't given much of a choice in the matter.

"We?" his father asked, now sounding interested.

"Yes, sir. We. I--I understand that there's a price to doing this sort of business, and the only thing I have to offer is--are my services. In return for the favor."

"Interesting," his father mused. _"Very_ interesting."

"Is it at all possible, sir?"

His father nodded. "Very possible, yes. But Anthony, do you understand what you're offering?"

"I _think_ so. I'd like to discuss it in more detail."

"Wise decision."

Without saying anything, Race noted that his father was still giving him time to back out; it was why he was dragging out the conversation the way he was. Race was almost touched. Really, though, he knew it was because his father was probably skeptical of Race's ability to do _anything_ for the family business. Or for the other families.

But he continued. Without hesitation. "Well, sir, I want Dutchy out of trouble. No juvie, no record. And... and I don't know what I'd have to do to make that happen, but I'm willing to do it."

"For one thing, Racetrack, you have to know how the families work."

Racetrack nodded, and his father continued. He didn't think to time how long the conversation took, but it was quite awhile; the family system was intricate and had rules that were sacred and yet nearly incomprehensible. But Race wasn't stupid enough to agree to _anything_ for certain without understanding them, and his father actually seemed pleasantly surprised by the level of intelligence in his questions.

And finally, it came time for the specific bargain. His father was, of course, not really near the top of the family hierarchy, but at the same time was much farther from the bottom. And he really _did_ have the ability to make the things Racetrack wanted happen, happen.

It was the first time he realized how _real_ his father's business was. It was terrifying, and more than ever he didn't want anything to do with it--but he had no choice. Dutchy would only be facing the drug charges because he hadn't been strong enough to resist the addiction, so he could only make up for it by being strong enough to do this. He was willing.

"You want this 'Dutchy' to get out of his OD free of charges, am I right?"

Race made a face. "Wouldn't that make it too suspicious?"

"I can make it _not_ look suspicious."

"I don't want anyone to die."

His father chuckled, which made the situation suddenly very eerie. "It all depends. Do you want it done?"

"...yes." Then he backtracked. "Well, I want him to face _light_ charges. Basically, I want his ride to be as easy as mine was getting out of there."

"Fine." His father looked over a sheet of paper. "We need something done for us Monday."

"The...the day after tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Me?"

"I'm growing impatient, Racetrack." His father glared. "Are you doing this or not?"

He took a deep breath. "Am I allowed to ask what this something involves?"

"Not usually, no. You're expected to trust me."

"Trust you as a member of the family? Or as my father?"

"As a member of the family, Racetrack--your contact with the family. Are you willing to do that?"

Race shut his eyes for a second. He was being asked to agree to do something that was certainly illegal, without knowing what it was, and his father had already explained that once a person was _in,_ it tended to be in for life, at least to the extent of having contact. And that was _not_ how he wanted to spend his life.

But he owed Dutchy.

"May we discuss this on a personal level, sir?" he asked politely.

His father raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"This is aside from the strict business; a question from a son to a father. Is _that_ all right?"

"I'll allow it. But I warn you, I'm incredibly angry at my son."

He nodded. Of course, his father could separate business and the rest of his life; otherwise, things would have been too... Too mob-y. "Dad, the band--the people in it--they mean a lot to me."

"I can tell."

"And yes, Dutchy _was_ on drugs, but... But they aren't bad people, just not upper class. And I'd like to know what I can do to convince you--my _father_--of that."

"Well," his father said, "To start, my son, for the first time in his life, seems to be thinking of someone other than himself."

That was unfair, but Race didn't say so. He thought of Maria all the time, every day. But he couldn't argue now. He had to keep this up on a good toll.

"I'm assuming," Mr. Higgins continued, "that perhaps they have some qualities I may have missed, since you are pushing so hard to do something you previously had no desire to do."

Race was about to smile. But his father continued. "However," he snapped. "I don't trust you. Not anymore. The drug tests are going to be increased. And I'm not quite sure how much I should be letting you do anymore."

Race nodded. That was actually far better than he'd expected, and it gave him an opening to make a case. "Well, sir--Dad--"

"No, you _will_ listen to my terms and agree or not as you choose, and then we return to the other matter. I am willing to allow you to be in this band and to attend regular rehearsals. However, I am _not_ willing to let you attend parties. You will be home by six every night and will call me if you are running late for any reason, and _you_ will make the call. To _me,_ not to your sisters or mother.

"You will also be expected to spend more time helping out around the house; since you won't be out on weekend nights anymore, I fully expect you to be willing to babysit Maria whenever you're asked."

"I'm happy to."

"Good. And if I _ever_ feel I have reason to suspect your behavior, I will not be so kind. Is _that_ understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, back to the matter at hand."

Race nodded, giving out a long sigh. "Yeah?" This was the part he was waiting for. He knew his father would not push too much onto him. But still, Race felt so helpless; he had never done a job for his father before. Never witnessed it, except for his Uncle Vinnie's death.

"I have something..." his father said, rubbing his hands together, the dryness of the skin making an irritating swash-like noise, "that must be delivered."

Race nodded. "Whaaat is it-"

"You don't need that information," his father snapped back. "All you must know is where to take it, when, and to who." Race sighed. "This must be done precisely how I say, at precisely the right moment."

"Okay."

"Then we have a deal?"

Racetrack hesitated, not wanting to somehow get pulled into this for the rest of his life, or get killed in the process of this... delivery. But he'd already had one victory--sort of--and assumed his father wouldn't set him up for failure. His father very much wanted the rest of the family to accept him as one of them.

"Yes," he decided. "We do."

"Good." His father held out his hand, and Race didn't hesitate before he took it. They shook, and while he felt one weight slipping away from him, he felt another settling down to take its place.

*

B: Bum bum BUMMMMMMMMM. You knew Race would end up in the mafia _somehow_, right?

F: Mafia!Race is now added to the Sexy Racetrack shelf

B: Collect the whole set! Mafia!Race comes with sunglasses and gun accessories. 

F: You have to hurry though, 'cause Spot like has this thing with being a compulsive Race-wanter.

B: You should see what he did with the back orders of Shower Time Race doll from chapter one.

F: Actually, you shouldn't. No one should.

B: I wish we hadn't. But aaaaaaaanyway. You can probably tell by the scrollbar at the side, there aren't any shoutouts this chapter. This isn't because we don't love you, because Funkie and I adore all of you and appreciate all of your feedback. But we're both running on empty at this point, with classes and work kicking our asses, it was either post this shout-out-less or wait until we had time to actually write them. And we have no idea when that would be.

F: And another point--our grades and health are actually decreasing BECAUSE of this fic. Now, this isn't to say we don't enjoy it (it's a great kind of unhealthy! [grin]) but if you really want updates, then you'll have to level with us here--we would much rather post this sooner than later. I am currently avoiding sleep AND homework. See? How I wish I could write this fic and ignore life.

B: Me too. But I'm falling asleep as I type, and 300 pages behind in my politics reading, and directing a show with daily rehearsals. So basically, we just wanted to say that even if we don't tell you individually how much we appreciate your support and feedback, it really means the world to us, particularly in the last chapter. We've both been lucky enough to not have witnessed cocaine addiction first hand, so a lot of time and research went into writing it, as well as several 5 AM nights. It was a real "heart and soul" type chapter and I just can't thank people enough for the amazing responses.

F: I second that. This fic has become a huge part of my life, as has B, and we love writing it, we love all of you SO much, and we love your feedback. We like our 5AM nights, unfortunately, the human body cannot take too much of them. Believe me, at the rate we're going, this fic freaking goes on forever. With oh so many twists!

B: She's not kidding. We're a few chapters ahead in our writing, and one of those chapters is nearly a hundred pages along (though I doubt it'll be posted in one shot). We've totally lost contact with things like "friends" and "family" and "outside lives". But for a good cause! So, in closing, thank you all. We seriously LOVE you.

...Oh, and the next chapter contains fluff. Because we *all* deserve a bit of a reward. So stick around for that. ;)

F: Another thing, this chapter was celebrated with low carb Cinamen Buns. They're disgusting...

B: And the tirimisu that was kindly baked for us, which is NOT disgusting.

F: Also, I might be in a band. That plays rock. Cheer for me.

B: [cheers] [holds up mug of iced tea] Cheers!

F: [eats cookies--which I found stashed in my desk] [grin]

B: And that's all for now. G'night!

F: Byyeeeeee!

__

Thanks to:

****

Shot Hunter's Muses, Hotshot, Nerikla, Holiday, Wand, Cards, Artemis-chan, Legaladreilith, Hilary and the Gang, Rumor, Obsessed Wit' Aaron Lohr, Stage, Shot Hunter, Seraph, Shinagami Nonoda, Gothic Author, Shade, Shinagami Nonoda again, Anne, Gothic Author again, Shadowlands, Lee, Rumor again, and Shade again.

__

With love.


	7. Finally, Your Touch

****

Note:

F: This chapter is entirely and totally dedicated to Hilary.

B: Because she inspires us, encourages us, and generally is a great person.

F: Not only is she the damned most amazing author ever, but she's the damned greatest gal as well.

B: Enjoy the SpRace cake. ;)

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

I been hangin' on threads,

I been playin' it straight,

Now, I've just got to cut loose

Before it gets late.

So I'm going,

I'm going,

I'm gone.

-Bob Dylan, _Going, Going, Gone_

****

Chapter Seven: Finally, Your Touch

Race was sure he was in some sort of test. When his mother had told him that she and his father would be out with friends until ten o'clock, Race figured he'd have Isabella breathing down his neck, griping to him about his issues and problems and what a disgrace he was for the whole evening. But instead, Isabella was out doing research for a paper, Maria was at a friend's house (with regret, Race realized his favorite sister was avoiding him) and Sophia had a flute workshop.

He was being had, or tricked, or _something_, because why would he be left alone after what he'd done? Granted, the house was surrounded by their personal security, but still, his mother had told him he could ask over friends. He just didn't get the angle they were playing at.

But the house was awfully large and empty, and the dread of what was coming up only a day away now was making him crazy. He jumped at every tiny noise, no matter how loud he put up his music, and didn't exactly feel lonely, just... Isolated.

He'd already called the band members to apologize again and let them know that, despite all the odds against it, he was still allowed to play in the band--if they still wanted him. Much to his shock, they did. (He suspected David and Mush had something to do with that.) He'd also dropped by the hospital to visit Dutchy that morning, and they'd spent a long time sitting there in silence, then had both tried to apologize, both forgiven the other, and bonded over how much they hated the entire world but in particular hated cocaine cravings. At least, Race figured, there would be someone else around who understood. And that made it worth helping Dutchy out, even if...

Even if it meant his doing business with his dad.

He stared at the phone anxiously, wanting to call someone over just to get rid of the isolation, but not sure who. Mush was out with Blink, David was with Jack, Itey was visiting Dutchy in the hospital. That didn't leave a lot of people.

It mostly just left Spot.

He didn't want to call Spot mainly because he _really_ wanted to call Spot. They'd... They'd _bonded,_ kind of. Spot had told him things. Things that he obviously didn't tell anyone else. Spot had held his hand after dinner, Spot had kissed him. Race should have been mad, should have been preparing to make the ultimate rejection, but

Somehow, gay or not gay was not playing into this. Was it so wrong to want to be around one person so badly? For all Race knew, he and Spot had real potential at a purely platonic, close friendship.

That might involve Spot wanting him.

He'd just have to cross that bridge when he came to it, he decided. Because he was currently craving and with no one home, it would be so _easy_ to get his hands on cocaine... Well, easier than with people home... And Spot, at least, wouldn't let him. He needed someone not to let him. In fact, if he phrased it like that, he could be fairly certain that Spot would come as quickly as humanly possible, given how he'd been so weirdly protective on Saturday. So really, it was a good plan.

Nervously, he dug out the scrap of paper that had Spot's and Jack's number scrawled on it and dialed; the phone rang three times before it was picked up.

"Hello?" The voice was female.

"Uh, hi? I'm looking for Spot--Sean."

"Just a minute." Then there was the muffled sound of someone yelling, a click, and Spot picked up.

"Yo."

"Hey."

"...hey?"

"It's me."

"Oh, Tony." Race made a face--really, how did Spot know..? oh well. Back at the wanting square. He was going to avoid that square and play it straight. Spot's voice made an odd kind of change when he said "Hey, what's...up?" Like Spot was trying to decide on the best way to greet him.

"Just wondering if you're doing anything."

"Masturbating." Old Spot was back.

"Funny."

"Because I'm serious."

"You know, I'm just going to hang up."

"No you're not." Pause. "...what do you want?" Spot's voice was laughing, kind of. As much as Spot's voice could laugh without sounding malicious.

"Um. This is going to sound weird."

"Then I'm probably going to laugh at you."

"Yeah, probably. It's just..." he trailed off.

"Now you're boring me."

"...Just, I'm home alone, and really bored, and having a craving, and wondering if you would just, I don't know, talk to me for awhile?"

There was a silence on the other end.

"Spot?"

"I can take Jack's van and be there in half an hour."

Race broke into a grin without meaning to. "Thanks, Spot. You remember where it is?"

"It's the giant, creepy mansion that looms over everything else in the neighborhood, right? I think I can find it."

Pause.

"Spot?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh... Nothing." Because he couldn't _quite_ bring himself to say thank you.

"Whatever. See you, _Midgito_."

When Race hung up, he knew with impending doom it was going to be one of those time sequences that seemed like hours, but was really half of one at most. And the worst thing about these kind of sequences is nothing he did would satisfy him until the time he awaited had finally come. Of course, drums were always the best possible prospect, but then he wouldn't hear the doorbell.

Television was out. Race didn't like TV. Mainly because his favorite show was _The Sopranos_, which was _sick_ once he thought about it.

So he sat and stared at the clock like a freaking dog.

When the bell rang, he sat there, letting Spot wait for a minute just so he'd feel less pathetic. Spot rolled his eyes when he opened the door, then smirked. "You're gonna cook for me, right? I haven't had dinner yet."

"You only like me so you can exploit my cooking talent."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"It doesn't have anything to do with my sexy Italian body?"

"Shut up, dickhead."

Race grinned and lead the way back to the kitchen. "What do you want?"

"What can you_ make?"_

"You name it, I can make it."

Spot raised an eyebrow, impressed. "That sounds like a challenge there, Midget Boy."

"So challenge me."

Spot thought about it for a minute, then shrugged. "Or you could just make whatever's easiest."

Race liked winning. "Spaghetti it is."

"Spaghetti? Even _I_ can cook that," Spot scoffed.

"You've never had the right kind of sauce. We've got this ancient family recipe that... It's like an orgasm." He smirked at Spot as he dug out a large pot and filled it with water, and wondered if this was flirting and why he was doing it. He knew he shouldn't flirt with Spot.

But it was so much _fun._

Race didn't notice that Spot was being totally silent until he set the stove to it's pre-boiling temperate and placed the pot carefully on top. When he did, he glanced at Spot with an odd-expression on his face, a mix of curiosity he supposed, and also hope.

He really wanted to catch Spot checking him out.

But Spot was giving his pajama pants odd looks.

"What?" Race asked.

"Those things have little pianos and trumpets on them."

Race blushed. _Actually_ blushed; he knew because he didn't blush often, but when he did, he felt it rise up on his entire body.

Why hadn't he fucking _changed?_

"...my mom bought them for me."

"I figured." Spot smirked, trailing his eyes up, and Race was grateful he'd worn his tight fitting Led Zeppelin tee. "Nice shirt."

"You a fan?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Isn't everyone? Robert Plant is, like, sex personified."

"Uh, yeah." Somehow, Race didn't feel quite comfortable agreeing with that.

Spot chuckled. "Come on, even straight guys have to know he's hot."

"I guess."

"You _guess?"_

"I never thought about it."

"Liar."

"I'm a liar who's _cooking_ for you."

Spot shrugged. "He _is_ hot, though. Something about lead singers."

"You got a thing for Blink?"

Spot didn't quite _say_ "Ha!" but it wasn't exactly a laugh. "He's a little too... Flamboyant... for me."

"Yeah? He doesn't seem like a flamer."

"He's not. But like I said, PDAs aren't my thing. And Blink likes shaking people up by making out with guys in public. I'd have to kill him in about two days flat I guess we're pretty good friends, though."

Race shrugged. "I think I'm flexible. But I don't make out with guys, so truthfully, I wouldn't know." Race glanced over at the stove, and his eyes went wide. _"Per carita!"_ Race exclaimed, rushing towards the pot, and started glaring at the stove. "Stupid thing's been acting up..." Race made a high pitched imitation voice of his mother. "Oh dear, just put it on pre-temperature and it'll be fine!" He switched back to low. "_Sono cazzate."_

Spot was staring at him, but Race was too busy with switching the pot to the next stove to care much.

Finally, everything was under control and went for the making of the sauce, which was in one of the cookbooks stored in the 'Cookbook Drawer--Mama only!' Of course, Sophia and Race used it all the time. Both loved to cook more than they would admit.

"You don't make out with guys at parties." Spot's voice was oddly flat as he repeated the sentence.

"What?" Race demanded, shuffling through the drawer until he found the right one, then rummaging through the fridge to find the right ingredients.

"Nothing," Spot answered, and added, "You're a real dick."

"What?" Race stopped and turned around, and suddenly Spot looked really awkward, standing against the counter looking totally out of place in the ridiculously opulent house.

"Just don't fuck with my head, okay?" Spot snapped. "Because--screw it. Just screw it, and screw you, and screw your cravings. I should go."

Race was back to being confused. Here he was, actually being _nice_ without even trying, and Spot was already mad at him. He'd probably done something stupid without even noticing it.

Spot hadn't moved, but Race took his wrist anyway, which made Spot wince, visibly. "Dude, what are you talking about? I didn't fucking _do_ anything, we're actually getting along!"

Spot kept his cool face, leaning awkwardly against the counter, but for some reason, he didn't look _angry._ Race couldn't really decide what he looked like. Just... not angry.

"No, seriously," Race said. "What'd I do? I actually... like talking to you, okay? If I say something stupid, don't _go_." Then Race pulled his hand away, still oblivious to what the physical contact was really doing to Spot. "But don't be a bitch when I'm not being one."

"You're not a bitch. You're a fucking _moron,_ Tony."

"Look, I get enough of that from my family; I don't need it from _you._ If I said something moronic, just tell me what the hell it was, okay?"

"Yeah." Spot glared at him for a second, then sighed, and his expression softened. "You know, you were really drunk at that first party."

"Yeah...?"

"You know, there's a _reason_ they call me Spot. I tend to... leave... spots. When I get involved with someone." He cleared his throat. "Look, you were drunk, I thought you were gay, and figured I'd never see you again anyway. And you didn't say no or anything, so don't blame me!"

"Wait, what?" Race had a sinking feeling that he knew what Spot was talking about.

"Nothing."

"We..." He trailed off, and his hand went to where the hickeys had been. "That was _you?!"_

Spot nodded.

"Oh." He paused. "Wow. That's--shit!" Because the spaghetti was boiling over, and he had to dash back across the kitchen to take care of it.

If Race had been looking, he would have seen Spot smile, if only slightly, but with more affection than even Spot thought he was capable of. It only lasted a moment. If Spot were a pussy, which he was sure he wasn't, he would have known that it was because he thought Race's cooking was not only sexy, but suddenly very...

__

Cute.

"Aaaahh..." Race's sigh sounded very Italian as he got the cooking under control. "There we go..." Race turned off the boiler, and stood on his tiptoes to grab the colander and couldn't quite reach. Normally, he'd grab the stool. But he _refused_ to stand on a stool in front of Spot.

He swore under his breath, and jumped a little, but still couldn't reach.

Spot started laughing, walked over, and grabbed it for him.

"Not one word, Spot."

"I don't think I need to say anything, _Midgito."_

Abruptly, they realized at the same moment that Spot was standing close behind Race, so close they were actually touching. Spot stepped back, Race stepped to the side, and drained the water out of the spaghetti.

"I... I don't mean to mess with your head, Spot," Race said quietly, as he went back to work on making the sauce, leaving the spaghetti in the colander in the sink.

"Yeah, I figured. Just--just tone down the flirting, okay? 'Cause I actually--" He stopped short.

"What?" Race asked. Spot said nothing. "Come on, it can't shock me anymore than finding out I've made out with you did."

Spot shrugged uneasily. "Because I actually kind of _like_ you, and it's really fucking hard to remember you're straight sometimes, when you smirk at me like you _want_ me to jump you."

Race had to admit--alright. That was more of a shock than realizing he'd made out with Spot. A lot more of a shock. Race had been liked by a fair amount of girls before, but this felt _different_. This felt like it mattered because He didn't understand it, but for some reason, it was kind of comforting to know that Spot liked him.

He set the sauce on the stove to boil, and gave Spot an empathetic look, even though Race was not an empathetic person. "Yeah...I'm sorry. But you know...you're pretty fucking hot, you know that, right?"

Spot raised an eyebrow. "_Tony."_

"No, seriously. You're _actually_ gorgeous." He was blushing again, he could feel it. "I don't even know what I'm doing, but hey, you're...my friend and we can talk and it's fun to hang around you."

"...thanks?"

"Yeah, and you're..." Race refrained from looking at Spot. He knew if he did, he'd 'look like he wanted to jump him'. "You're...shit, you're probably getting cocky now. Like the world needs more of a cocky you. Sauce is almost done."

"You're pretty damn cocky yourself sometimes, drummer boy."

"You kidding? I'm _always_ cocky. And now I've got boys _and_ girls wanting me. You just made me worse." He glanced over his shoulder and smirked, he couldn't help it, before removing the sauce from the heat. "It's done; grab anything you want to drink from the fridge."

Spot opened the fridge, and stared. "God _damn,_ this place is well stocked." He grabbed a wine cooler, and then another one for Race, and saw Race was serving out two portions of spaghetti with sauce. "Blink _wishes_ he was Robert Plant," he added, hoping to get back to a less awkward subject.

"No kidding. You know, you like the shirt, you should see some of the posters in my room." He managed not to blush as he realized he'd just invited a guy with a crush on him up to his room, but decided it was easiest to just ignore the comment.

Spot looked torn between saying something dirty, or also choosing to forget what had just happened between the two of them, which really, neither of them was forgetting any time soon. He chose on saying something innocent that _sounded_ dirty, which could never lose. "Can I see your drumsticks, too?"

Race made a face. Spot grinned and took a small portion of spaghetti from his plate. He couldn't help but notice his serving was larger than he hoped. "I can't eat all this," he mumbled, and started to follow Race out of the kitchen.

"You fucking don't eat enough. And it's good for you."

"Okay, _Mom."_

"No, I'm serious, I bet I can count your ribs."

'I'd gladly take off my shirt' was what Spot was really thinking, but instead he shrugged. "It works for me."

"Just eat."

Spot didn't reply; he was busy marveling at just how many stairs he had to climb before they actually reached Race's bedroom. But it was so _cute_ the way Race suddenly looked shy as he opened the door. Though Spot had to admit the room looked good; the furniture all coordinated with the paint on the walls and the rug and the bedspread, all shades of dark green and blues, with posters all matted against dark backgrounds that _also_ matched the paint. Most of them were of classic rock bands, specifically of drummers, and a few of them were fucking _autographed._

Spot suddenly found himself thinking it must be nice to have money, but didn't say it aloud. Instead he said, "Damn." And his eyes lit on the drumset, and he wasn't surprised. "Nice drums."

"Yeah, they're pretty good."

"I'm kind of afraid I'm going to spill sauce on something and your mother will have me shot."

"Then eat at the desk." Race settled on to his bed, and Spot sat at the desk chair and tried very hard not to think about the way Race was sprawled on the bed and how much he wanted to sprawl over Race.

He was so turned on he could hardly stand it.

With amusement though, he noted that Race had finished his food _already_, which didn't really surprise him. Wasn't it a stereotype that Italians ate like pigs? Or was that Greek?

Spot smirked. If he voiced half of what he thought, he'd piss people off twice as much as he usually did. Which was quite a feat.

Spot looked more around the room, his eyes closing in on a Buddy Rich poster. "You into jazz?"

"I'm into Buddy." Race's voice took on a dreamy tone as he set his plate onto the table beside the bed. "Jesus, what _can't_ he do?"

"Fellatio?"

"_Spot_." 

"_Tony,_" Spot mimicked.

Spot swirled around in the desk chair, and took two more bites of spaghetti before realizing he was full already. "Fuck, I want this chair."

"We have like, four in the garage if you want one."

"Serious?" Spot raised an eyebrow. "What, does your dad take the chairs from the offices he builds?"

"We got it as part of a set, but they didn't match anyone else's room, so they've just been sitting there. I mean, it's better not to waste them, right?"

"God, you're fucking..." He trailed off. "Rich, you know that?"

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a minute.

"The sauce _is_ really good."

"I know."

Spot glanced at the homework open on Race's desk, then looked away. He didn't understand it anyway, it was some kind of math he'd never seen before, clearly, because it consisted more of letters than it did of numbers.

"So, uh, what were you doing when I called?" Race asked.

Spot shrugged and poked at his spaghetti. "Nothing."

"Staring out a window? Daydreaming about me?"

"Dick." He paused. "I was writing."

"Oh, that's--you were _what?"_

"Shut the hell up."

"You _write?"_

"Yes. Shut up."

"Can I _read_ some?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll cook for you some more." Race practically fluttered his eyelashes.

Spot wanted to smack him. And then kiss him. He decided doing the latter wouldn't work out like he wanted it to. But he _did_ smack Race.

__

"Ow!"

"Stop being a bitch."

"I'm not! I just wanna see you be good at something other than being an asshole."

Spot gave a death glare. "I'm not good at it, I just do it because it kills time." He swirled around in the chair some more. "Jesus, we don't all have goals, you know. I'm looking forward to doing fuck all with my life."

Race reached forward and stopped the chair with his hand. "Spot, come on. I played for you."

"That's different."

"Come _on,_ it ain't gonna kill you."

Spot turned around slightly to face Race, and leaned down to look him more in the eye. They stared at each other for awhile, and finally Spot snorted.

"ONE thing."

Race grinned.

"I don't have anything with me, though, so you'll have to wait for Monday."

"Sure, Monday." Race's heart sank, and he added, "That's tomorrow."

"Yeah...?"

And Race remembered that the next day was not going to be a very good day for him at all. He suddenly wanted to explain that to Spot; he trusted Spot to keep his mouth shut, but... But it could get them both in serious trouble, if Spot knew anything he wasn't supposed to, or even if his father's employers _suspected_ Spot knew anything.

"Yeah; I haven't finished my homework yet."

"Oh."

"Whatever, I'll copy David's tomorrow morning." He grinned. "So, my cooking's not good enough for you? Eat!"

Spot rolled his eyes. He ate up a few more forkfuls, obviously forcing it because he wanted to please Race (who, despite his previous oblivion, was starting to pick up on these things) and finally Race just shook his head and started fidgeting with the loose string on the bottom of his pajama bottoms, before giving Spot a shove on the knee with his foot.

"Don't _force_ it, you'll puke."

Spot swallowed. "...it's not 'cause it's bad."

"I know."

Spot nodded. "Good. It's _good,_ really good."

"I know." Race shrugged, and shifted over on his bed. Spot stared at him before standing up and taking a seat next to Race on the bed. He didn't know if that was what Race had meant; he decided he didn't care. "Why do you have such a small appetite anyway?"

"Well gee, you may not have noticed this, _Midgito_, but I'm not exactly a huge guy. Fast metabolism, is all."

"Dude, that just means you can eat _lots_ and your body burns the fat quickly. It doesn't mean you're not hungry." He poked Spot between two ribs. "You're, like, anorexic or something. You sure you're okay?"

"Fine," Spot answered, annoyed. "Christ, are you trying to save the world, one screw up at a time? First you call Dutchy on his... His _thing_, and now you think I'm throwing up in the bathroom or something."

"No, to throw up you have to eat first. That's bulimia."

"I'm _fine."_

"Okay." Race paused. "You're _sure?"_

"Christ, I'm skinny, okay? The doctor says it's fine! Jesus, what do you want from me, some sob story about how I stopped eating 'cause my mom wouldn't cook for me as a kid?"

"Is that what happened?"

Spot was really quiet for a really long time.

"That's it, isn't it?"

"No, I'm just saying it for shits and giggles." Spot rolled his eyes, and subconsciously tugged down at his shirt, attempting to blanket his lack of weight. "Anyway, that's what the shrink told me a few years ago. Fuck me if I know why I told _you,_ though."

"Because you like me?"

"Would you stop bringing that up?" Really, Spot didn't sound like he minded too much. "How about you? You're _short."_

Race pushed Spot's shoulder. "That's not a freaking _problem."_

"Sure it is!" Spot smirked. "Think of all the disabilities it causes; you can't reach things, people step on you--" Race pushed him again and Spot grabbed both of his wrists. "And, _look_, you can't even put up a good fight."

Spot shut up when Race maneuvered his arms slightly and ending up toppling Spot off the bed. Race burst out laughing.

"Fuck you, Higgins."

"Back at you, Conlon."

Spot wasn't quite as easily defeated as Race thought, though, because he sprang back on to the bed and bodily tackled Race, who was laughing too hard to fight back. He didn't catch his breath until Spot had him pinned down against the bedspread, dark hair almost blending into the navy blue pillows. Race gasped in a deep breath. "You caught me. So now what are you going to do with me?" he demanded.

"Well," Spot said, leaning down just a _little_ too far into Race's comfort zone, enough that Race felt himself blushing again, "I remembered something else about the night you were so drunk."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Spot smirked. "You're ticklish." But as soon as he moved the arm that had been pinning down one of Race's to run a hand down Race's side--Race _did_ begin laughing again, though he tried very hard not to--Race was free enough to slip out of Spot's grip, roll over, and the situation was reversed.

"Not _that_ ticklish," he breathed, suddenly feeling almost shaky, but cocaine was the last thing in his mind. His brain seemed to be taken over with thoughts of Spot, and nothing else.

Race leaned back against the headboard, covering his stomach, still grinning, breathing a little heavily. Spot snorted and chuckled. "Pussy."

"I am _not_ a pussy," Race shot back, but he didn't look mad. Just...still breathless. "You're the one who fell off the bed."

"Look at you! You're a fucking girl, ticklish, squealing."

"I wasn't squealing."

"Were so."

Race shook his head. _"Figlio di puttana..."_

Spot tensed slightly. "What's that mean?"

Race grinned, and leaned forward. "Son of a bitch." 

Spot didn't looked offended; in fact he let a grin spread across his face. "Say it again."

"...Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on. Say it again." Spot sounded breathless too, though in a somewhat different manner.

"Uh." Race shrugged, then, "I can't believe you're _inviting_ me to swear at you."

"You swear at me anyway, _Midgito_. But the Italian thing is--" He caught himself. Race didn't need to know just how much of a turn on the Italian language was.

But Race wasn't stupid. "Hot?" Race suggested, and continued with a breathless phrase in Italian.

"What's that mean?"

"Let's just say it would make you blush." Race grinned.

"Doubt it. I don't blush. Never."

"I bet I could make you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Race wasn't even _thinking_ anymore, just reacting. He put a hand on Spot's thigh, slowly trailed it up his leg, and kept murmuring in Italian in Spot's ear. And while Spot didn't blush, he did start breathing a lot harder and moaning a little bit, and the moaning was just so damned erotic that Race couldn't help himself. It didn't matter that it was Spot, and Spot was a boy; he reacted on instinct.

He put his lips to Spot's and kissed.

Spot hesitated for less than a second only, before taking a sharp breath and kissing Race back, slipping his hand up the small of Race's back, causing him to arch slightly and moan, and then abruptly, Race pulled away.

He fell back on the bed, leaning against his hands with his knees up and legs slightly open, but Spot could tell from the slightly terrified look in Race's eyes that his suggestive posture was purely by accident.

None the less, Spot crept towards him, but didn't say anything.

They were both breathing very hard, and Race was blushing to the tips of his ears. He stared at Spot, Spot's mouth, his thin body, his hands, his...

When had this happened? He'd never remembered wanting one person so much, so badly. But it could affect _everything_. Last time he checked, he was straight. And he was brought up in one of the strictest Italian Catholic families in town; he _couldn't_ be...

But tomorrow...tomorrow would be intense. Tomorrow, his life could completely change, nothing would be normal, he could be dead, even...

"Screw it," Race breathed, and grabbed the front of Spot's shirt, kissing him hard on the mouth, and pulling him down on top as he slid underneath of Spot's body, biting slightly at Spot's lower lip.

Spot inhaled sharply, startled, but he could tell Race had reached some sort of conclusion. He had no idea what it was or what had brought it about, or why Race would suddenly seemingly change his entire sexuality, but he wasn't going to argue. Because he was lying on Race's bed. On top of Race. Who had his tongue stuck down Spot's throat, his hands groping just under the bottom of Spot's shirt, and he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Spot figured that the worse that could happen was that Race would freak out and never talk to him again. Which would suck, but on the other hand, for all he knew, Race's dad would change his mind and ensure that they'd never see each other again. He certainly wasn't going to miss what could be his only chance to actually be physical with someone he had a genuine crush on.

It had been so long since he'd even had a real crush. And longer since the crush had been interested in him at all, even in just making out. Though even that was an overstatement; he'd _never_ had a crush respond the way Race was responding.

He decided not to think about it, to just enjoy it. And enjoying it wasn't hard.

Spot, with a ferocity that matched even his actual personality and way of life, thrust his tongue into Race's mouth, and dug his nails slightly into Race's shoulders, pushing his pelvis against the boy underneath him. Race groaned into Spot's mouth, loudly, and Spot responded by tilting his head to the side and starting to nip down Race's neck before sucking at the hollow between Race's neck and shoulder.

Race hissed out some Italian under his breath, and soon Spot was kissing him uncontrollably on his mouth again, and pulling up Race's shirt with frenzied, expert hands, touching his skin, kissing him more passionately.

It was unspoken, but even when they were kissing it seemed like a competition. A competition of who could wear the other out the fastest.

Race didn't plan on losing.

He worked out quickly just how much the Italian affected Spot and began to murmur it every time Spot moved his mouth away from Race's, and it certainly encouraged Spot to do other things with his mouth than kiss. Or at least, than kiss Race's. Race managed to writhe the rest of the way out of his t-shirt and Spot began to experiment with his mouth and fingers; kissing, touching, tickling, anything that could get a reaction.

Within a few minutes, Race was spending too much time panting and moaning to speak coherently in _any_ language, but he was determined to reduce Spot to the same state, and his perfectly trimmed fingernails were the right length to scratch Spot's back sharply; not painfully, but enough to contrast his lips at Spot's neck.

Spot replied, though it didn't sound like English; Race doubted it was any language at all. It _did_ sound like Spot was enjoying himself, though. And Race was more surprised by how happy _that_ made him than by what they were doing at all.

Spot, suddenly overcome with an annoying pressure of emotion, pulled away slightly, sitting up, realizing that his leg's were spread and Race's middle was in between them...

He'd had his fair share of make-outs, and even two one night stands, but Spot had never wanted to still talk, or look or...or do anything that involved actual emotion in the process. But he panted and stared down at Race, in his ridiculous piano, trumpet pajama bottoms, his lips red and slightly puffy, and his surprisingly well-built chest.

"What?" Race breathed out. "What, what is it?"

Spot leaned down more, pressing his palm on Race's chest, trailing his eyes over Race and his features. "Fuck, you have like...hot cheekbones..." Spot mumbled, trailing his thumb down the side of Race's face. Race closed his eyes and shuddered in a breath.

Spot would never let on how vulnerable he was just then. Spot never spoke about his emotions, or how he felt, and suddenly with Race, he wanted to tell him everything, hear everything, kiss him whenever he wanted...

He wanted to say something, _anything_ to show how much this actually meant to him.

But he didn't.

Race threw him a strange, almost scared look, then smiled and kissed his chest lightly, and didn't move for a minute. He seemed content to just be there, lying between Spot's legs, staring up into what he decided were the most gorgeous eyes he'd ever seen.

The silence seemed to kill the intensity that had been built up, but not the feelings. Spot shimmied down the bed until he and Race were again face to face, and awkwardly he put his arms around Race's shoulders and they began to kiss again. This time it was soft and slow and sweet, not a challenge or a game, just... Affectionate.

Mutually affectionate.

Race wasn't blushing anymore and he had no idea where the rush of affection _came_ from, but didn't care. And Spot seemed worried, and tense, and he didn't want that. He wanted Spot to calm down, so he began to gently run his fingers down Spot's back, and stopped kissing long enough to murmur, "Hey. It's okay."

Spot smiled and pulled Race closer. And they stayed that way until the door slammed shut downstairs and a female voice called, "TONY, you had damn well better be HOME!"

*

Isabella Higgins was harsh, cynical and very, very intelligent. She was attractive, in a tight lipped way, but it was hard to tell if she could ever actually pull off the Higgins's good looks when she always looked as if she was about to murder someone.

Right now, she most likely _was._ She'd planned to kill Racetrack earlier, but Sophia and Maria had talked her into getting some research for a paper done and leaving Tony alone to stew in his self pity before actually making him feel worse.

Isabella did not do well with postponing her lectures; if she held them in, they got worse.

Angrily, she turned her key in the lock and let herself into her huge 'home' (university was a haven that she never really wanted to leave) and immediately went to the kitchen--where _else_ would a teenage boy be when he was home alone?

Nothing doing. However, there was a strainer with some spaghetti, and a few pots lying around.

__

"Slob," she said in brisk Italian before deciding that he was probably eating upstairs--which he wasn't allowed to do--in his room.

She was halfway up the second flight of stairs when she realized that something was odd; Tony never just sat around in his room quietly. He either listened to music loudly enough to get lectured by their parents at _least_ twice a week, or was playing drums even _more_ loudly. So the fact that the she could tell he was in his room--a sliver of light escaped out from under the door into the dark hallway--but there was no real noise was suspicious.

She realized that if he had somehow gotten his hands on more drugs, she might _actually_ kill him. It wasn't until she was nearly at the door to his room that she began to hear noises: quiet groans, slightly louder gasps, Tony mumbling words in Italian that he certainly shouldn't have known (let alone used) and bedsprings.

So he had a girl with him. Good; a little humiliation would probably serve him right, and teach whichever girl was currently attempting to date him that dating any member of the Higgins family required a lot more commitment than a teenager should ever be willing to give.

Ready with a scathing remark, she slid the door open.

She could barely see her brother; the comforter was too fluffy and he was trapped underneath someone else. She didn't recognize the other someone, but she did pick out the most important fact: said someone was male. He was male, and clearly doing things to her little brother that were... Were not things that Race should have done with _girls,_ let alone boys. He was lying between the boy's _legs,_ for God's sake.

She started to interrupt them, then stopped. Humiliating him would be one thing, but this was entirely different. She shut the door gently and crept back downstairs.

Race and a boy. Race was gay. Well. The pressure of being in the closet and wanting to date someone their father would have hated, even if he'd been a girl... She suddenly had a fairly good idea how it was possible he'd messed up so badly as soon as there was cocaine nearby. Maybe her father was right, and the university _was_ giving her liberal brainwashing classes. But she certainly wasn't going to make Race's life any _worse_ than it already had to feel to him.

It took a moment for the truth to actually sink in, and when it did, Isabella found herself feeling a lot more sorry for her baby brother than she wanted to. If cocaine wasn't bad enough, then he had to go and get their father even more raving than he already was, and he was...

It was weird to think of.

Her brother was _gay._

The need to kill him was waning, but the thought of some teenage guy pushing little Anthony into the covers was enough to send Isabella's mother bear instinct into a rampage--one she had to control quickly or she'd head right back in there to claw the guy's eyes out.

Isabella was a very protective young woman.

But with a bout of affection she would never be able to be rid of, no matter how hard she tried, Isabella let herself back out onto the porch, and waited a few minutes before re-entering the house.

Ten times louder than before.

"TONY, you had damn well better be HOME!"

There. That oughtta get that...that _person_ off of her little brother in the knick of time. She'd give them two minutes tops. And that meant all guilty expressions erased, clothes in proper places, and bed properly made.

There was almost a thirty second pause before his voice echoed back, "I'm in my room!"

Good. She waited another minute or so before loudly walking up the stairs to his room; she didn't want to risk anything that would give them a hint that she knew what was going on. Race clearly wasn't ready to come out of the closet yet, and she wouldn't force it on him. That would probably leave him even _more_ screwed up... and he'd tell her eventually, anyway. Either that, or do something remarkably stupid like get caught by their father.

It occurred to her, as she pushed open the door to his room, that knowing Race, _that_ was more likely. But at least for now, she wouldn't worry about it.

"Tony, shouldn't you be doing homewor--oh." She stopped and regarded the young man who was now sitting on Race's desk chair. Yeah, she could see why Race found him attractive, if he'd been a few years older... She stopped that train of thought abruptly. "I didn't realize you had a friend over, _Fante."_

"He invites himself over," Race answered quickly, and Isabella had to hand it to him, he looked _almost_ guiltless--despite his hair. Which was hilariously tousled. She made a note to mention that. "You know; kind of followed me home. Like a dog."

"Fuck you, _Midgito_." The boy grinned, and gave Race's leg a kick. A flirtatious kick that Isabella successfully pretended not to understand.

"I'm Isabella." She extended her hand. "You are?"

The boy looked slightly startled that someone wanted to shake hands with him, and Isabella could already tell that their father must have hated this boy anyway--he was wearing a t-shirt that said 'Fuck you'.

"Sean," he replied. "Some people call me 'Spot'."

"Spot?"

"Ask Tony."

"Fuck you!" Race was laughing, and Isabella was sickened at the amount of flirting going on in front of her--they must have thought she was an idiot.

She'd have to mention to her darling brother later that she wasn't totally blind, and neither was their father, and he really ought to stop being so obvious. But... She supposed it wouldn't have been obvious if she hadn't already known.

"Tony, watch your language," she answered, and Spot crossed back to the doorway to shake her hand. He seemed a little intimidated by how firm her handshake was, though. It was one of the many things that ran in their family.

Race ducked his head in response to the scolding, but was still grinning. So whatever he and Spot had done, it had left him in a good mood. That was, she supposed, reassuring. He wasn't being pressured or forced, or...

She resisted the urge to kick Spot's ass out of the house for_ touching_ her baby brother, even if it _had_ been consensual. That was more her father's style.

Her style was more a fixed stare; not a malicious one, but one that definitely made the person who received it feel like he'd done something terribly wrong. And she wouldn't even have to specify what; he could wonder.

She was impressed when Spot didn't flinch under her gaze, though eventually Race got to his feet. "You're going to yell at me for eating in my room, aren't you?" he asked.

"And for not washing your dishes," she added.

Race gave Spot a simpery, fake smile. "Izzy likes to mother me. Because no one will ever marry her and give her children."

Spot snorted as Isabella gave Race's head a sharp smack. Apparently, he was _still_ a sixteen year old moron. No matter how hard the boy's past, no matter how much he had going on, he still managed a way to tell his sister that she was ugly.

"Nah, she ain't bad," Spot answered, but said it more to Race's face with a sly smile than he did to Isabella. She refrained from being flattered since 'Spot' was only saying it to flirt with and tease her baby brother.

Well, two--or, she supposed, three--could play at that game.

"Why, thank you," she simpered back. She laughed and sat down on the bed between them, put a hand on Spot's knee. He didn't actually wince away, but he definitely had a look on his face like he suspected she had cooties. She wanted to laugh because it was so obvious to her now, but she couldn't let them know she knew.

"Uh, welcome," Spot said, and Race started laughing.

"Stop hitting on my friends, Izzy! You yell at me when I hit on _yours."_

She smacked him again and moved her hand away from Spot.

Spot shrugged however, and stood up to grab his dirty, not-empty plate. "Well, you know, chicks hit on me all the time." He turned to face Isabella. "I mean, look at me." Race and Isabella stared, oddly, but Spot seemed to take it as a way to keep talking. "I mean I'm..." He grinned at Race. "Pretty fucking hot. I mean, seriously, I'm actually gorgeous. Eh, Tony?"

Race looked like he was choking on something, and Isabella couldn't help it; she started to laugh, and whapped her brother on the arm again for good measure. "Well, answer him," she giggled.

Race glowered at Spot, and answered, "Sure. I don't really look at guys or anything, but I guess."

"Right. Now go take care of your dishes," she ordered. "And then you should probably finish your homework." The implicit order was that Spot should get out.

"It'll get done," Race promised.

"I don't mean copy Michael's, Tony," she answered.

"Oh, come on. Don't you trust me?" he asked. He clearly wasn't thinking.

"I trusted you until you got home yesterday morning, _Anthony,"_ she snapped. "Go."

Spot started to respond on Race's behalf, but Race put a hand on his shoulder. It was a sibling thing; he didn't need to worry about it.

"Izzy. You know I'm sorry about that. You _know--"_

"I know," she interrupted. "Now go do the dishes." Isabella gave Race one more stern look, and then smiled politely at Spot. "It was nice meeting you, Sean." 

Spot gave a nod of his head, then spoke before Race could stop him. "He's sorry, you know."

She was amused, and slightly touched that perhaps Race and this other boy actually cared about each other, but that wasn't enough to soften up Isabella's reply. "I've heard that one before." Then she walked out of the room. There. That was her speech. It wasn't long, but it had been done. For some reason, she didn't quite want to yell at Race anymore.

Well, not tonight, anyhow.

She stopped walking, suddenly curious on what the two boys were doing now that she was gone. She started to grow protective again; Spot _did_ seem awfully rough around the edges. She hesitated for a second, and could hear voices talking softly, and strained to hear what they were saying.

"Don't worry, man. It'll be okay."

"Yeah. Yeah, I just feel like shit right now, okay?"

"She didn't mean to--"

"Of _course_ she meant to make me feel like this, Spot. I deserve to--"

"Stop it, idiot. Don't talk like that."

She smiled to herself and walked downstairs. Maybe Tony didn't have bad taste, after all.

*

B: It's about goddamn time.

F: Hah. It's _so_ true. We've been bad. We keep people hanging.

B: But honestly, by this point if they didn't snog, _we_ were going to go crazy. Stupid hormones.

F: We used to be such nice girls. Now it's like "how about instead of talking, they have sex?"

B: She's not joking. I've read the upcoming chapters. (You know. And wrote parts of them.)

F: It's kind of an understanding. I say "sex" and she says "I'm sure glad you said so."

B: But aaaaanyway. Back to this chapter. -cough- Yes. The fluff was much needed because... Hey, it's been a heavy few chapters, and we needed to lighten up.

F: I'm addicted to fluff. Get me a program.

B: No program for you! Go write me smut now! ... um... I mean... -blush-

F: See the conditions I have to work under??! It's _glorious_.

B: You love it. Anyway; we've started to catch up on sleep and schoolwork, at least a little (I'm only behind in three classes now!) so... Hopefully we'll experience no further healthy problems. Thanks for the kind wishes.

F: We love you all. Bunches.

B: We really, really really do. Enough that we're doing shoutouts for you at... 2 AM. Because you guys all rule THAT much.

F: Granted, we write at 2am nearly every night...

B: Hardly the point, though. Shush, you!

F: Shushing But Izzy rocks out world, and...

__

*drumroll supplied by drummerboy!Race*

100 REVIEWS!!!

B: WOOOOOOO!! Thank you, everyone!!

This chapter was celebrated with nothing but five crackers. And that was just Funkie, 'cause we're both fasting. Happy holidays, anyone who's celebrating! L'shanah tovah!

**** __

Shoutouts

****

Shinigami Nanoda

F: The Godfather really has nothing to do with this except for the Italian, mafia father gorgeous Al Pacino/Racetrack thing.

B: ...I've never even seen it. ::hides under a table::

F: Me neither!

B: Oh, okay then.

F: Chicadee, speaking of updating..."Hello pot? This is kettle."

YOU SHOULD DO IT.

B: But you get an instant update anyway. Because we were about to post it when we got your review.

F: How much do we rock? 

----------------------- 

This much.

B: So true. Bwaha.

****

Kristan

F: Spot is yummy. SO yummy it's dangerous, and even yummer in this chapter.

B: We've been writing lots and lots, promise. It's just the editing that takes forever.

F: We're bad editors.

B: But we'll try very hard to be good.

****

Nakaia Aidan-Sun

F: You are great.

B: You really are.

F: Your waiting ceases....NOW.

****

Stage

B: We know our readers are very smart and we're proud of our fanbase. (We can't really believe we _have_ a fanbase...) But yes. Mafia!Race will be something else entirely...

F: Mafia!Race has twistage, really. And Jack ain't so bad...but he does get worse.

B: Mwahahahahahahaha. -cough-

F: B, you're officially banned from the evil laughter club. Stage, you can have her spot.

B: -pout-

F: -pets-

****

Obsessed wit' Aaron Lohr

F: ::faints--overdose of love::

B: Mr. Higgins actually kind of rules. He's fun to write.

F: We have some sort of weird affection for Mr. Higgins.

B: For all of Race's insane family, really. And they just get worse as the story goes on...

F: And _cuter_.

****

Gothica (#1)

B: E-coke? Us? Nevvvvvvver.

F: Yeah, those unnatural breaks? I'm the queen of them. You should see me at school, I'm a dorkus. This story needs to be my life, I would be so much hotter.

B: Also, the nickname Racetrack didn't come from Mush and David, it came from Daddy Higgins. It's all explained about a hundred pages from now.

F: But really, it just gets more confusing. The name is cleared up. That's about it.

B: What she said. -cough- Ignore me. As for how we can do it to him... He just suffers so _beautifully_.

F: Your quotage makes me smile. Really. I'm smiling right now.

B: Me, too. You're nice. You rule.

F: You rule so much you have no idea.

B: So take our word for it. You = Rule.

F: Equation!!

****

Hilary

B: First; glad to see you're rebuilding because.... Arrrrg, were we ever angry on your behalf.

F: We ranted. Holy shit, did we ever rant.

B: In all caps, even.

F: With swears.

B: Which was why we had to dedicate the chapter to you. We were planning to at some point anyway, and then not being able to be actually helpful... Well, happy snoggage, anyway.

F: This snoggage, hopefully, will heal you as much as it can.

B: Second; teenage drama? Ohhhh, so much of it coming up...

F: I LOVE angst.

B: Me too. And it's so much fun to write.

F: We inflict pain.

B: On fictional characters, _mostly_. Ehrm... Ahem. Yes.

F: ::inches away::

B: Bwahahahahaha.

F: Write me smut and I'll forget your pure evil.

B: Fair enough.

F: We understand each other.

B: That, and we like smut.

F: SO much. ::grin::

  
**Thistle**

B: We really are attempting to get chapters out as quickly as we can; editing is a pain, though, so it takes awhile despite having written ahead.

F: Hey, would ya rather we just edited and nothing else? Oh oh, and you get a review cookie. ::hands over cookie.::

B: We're also pretty proud of our darlin' coke addicted mafia-ized Race... he's growing up so fast these days.

F: Someone had to be a cruel hoe. We decided Jack got the honors because everyone forgives him sooner or later.

B: And Race's dad is going to get much, much cooler as the story goes on. He kind of rocks.

F: Italians rock. Period.

****

Rumor

F: Your specifics make me supa glad.

B: Actually, somehow, both of the reviews for the last chapters showed up. But I'm glad my Coke addiction is legendary. Mmm... carbonation....

F: I like your Spot addiction. I have a theory that addictions are a healthy part of life that everyone needs. Look where Race's got him: LAID. Well, almost.

B: ...I'm not sure Race's was really healthy, but basically, yeah. Healthy addictions are good things. They give you a conversation piece.

F: Hi, I'm Sue, I'm addicted to Salsa!

Bill: What a coincidence, I'm addicted to nachos.

B: Um, something like that.

F: I just wish.

B: Perhaps, since we adore you so much, we could give you a bit of a discount on some of those action figures...

F: If you promise to treat them nice and polish EVERY day.

****

Legaladrielith

B: -singing- Since when did you become me muddah... -cough- Sorry, I'll stop that now.

F: Nyaha! Yes, work in Newsies song and dance EVERY DAY.

Also, homework? Bah.

B: Homework is _VASTLY_ overrated.

F: What a world it would be if we didn't have any at all.

B: A _good_ world. Stupid professors.

****

Wand

F: We got someone's eyes watery!!

B: Thank you for the kind words; I'm glad the story is turning out so well.

F: As am I. So much.

B: We plan to rest up tomorrow morning. Yay for three day weekends!

F: -throws confetti-

****

Shade (who we love and adore)

F: You wanna talk about long chapters? Do you really?

B: Long chapters? AHAHAHAHAHAH. This was NOTHING.

F: So much to learn...

B: Hopefully soon, really.

F: If we get this freaking chapter up.

B: However, I'm very very glad you like Sloan. Because Sloan rules.

F: DUH.

B: Well, yeah, duh. But it had to be said. —gives you a hit-

F: We are the coolest dealers EVER and you are the hottest addict EVER.

B: We love you to death, dearie.

F: You know we do.

****

Copper Bandit

B: Mmm, pretty, angsty Spot...

F: I love your review. "Tension; intrigue..." sounds like a movie trailer.

B: It makes us feel all professional and cool.

F: If this was a movie, I would watch it every day. CB, you are invited, and you can have the popcorn bowl with the cat pictures on it.

****

Gothica (#2)

B: Hee. Spontaneously combusting crickets.

F: AH HA. Your stern mother stare, for some reason, in my head, looks exactly like my aunt in San Francisco. She's small and cute.

B: For me, it's more my suitemate, who always rolls her eyes when I accidentally stay up until 4 AM writing with Funkie.

F: I'm a bad influence!! -smiles-

B: She's terrible, really. But let's see here... Yes. Mafia!Race, because how could we resist?

F: It's in the back of everyone's mind. The dirty part. With handcuffs.

B: Mmmm, Race + handcuffs... Spot optional, clothes definitely not present... -cough- -blush- Um, what? Where was I? Right, Mafia!Race. Is a sexy little bitch. Yes.

F: I love smut!

B: I know you do, hon. And yes. Humility!Race is also a sweetie.

F: You know the funny thing, the other day, I was thinking that B and I should make a movie or play out of this...

B: So since you volunteered anyway... -grin-

F: I say we all do it dude! Then we could have the best acceptance speech at the Oscars EVER.

B: Oh my god, we so WOULD. That would rule.

F: Can I ogle all the stars?

B: Of course. We all can. It'll be FUN.

F: ROAD TRIP.

B: Woooooo!

****

Cards

F: Woah. Caps.

B: It is actually pretty bad, though. Pooooooor Racie poo.

F: Bad in a hot, angsty way. All goes well now, see? Fluff fixage.

B: Fluff fixes all. For a chapter or two, anyway.

F: You love it, Cardsy.

****

Shadowlands

B: -revives you-

F: It's okay. Join the fainting club.

B: Or in Race's case, the "passed out cold" club.

F: and the joke is, when he awoke his...

B: Exactly.

****

Seraph the Second

F: Sleep? Never. Ever. Not even kidding.

B: Sleep is for the weak. Even though in some states you can be declared legally insane if you go 72 hours without it.

F: Dude, we're so insane.

B: Alas. That's kind of sad for us. ...Oh, and Spot's backstory isn't even close to fully revealed yet. We dribble it out in bits and pieces. Because we're evil.

F: Spot is one messed up puppy.

B: As for the delivery... Well, you'll see. ;)

****

Kellyanne

F: ::gasp:: You still have your lungs right??

B: Do we need to rush you to the hospital???

F: Do we have to get Docter!Specs to examine you??

B: Funkie, don't _encourage_ people to go to the hospital

F: Sorry. I forgot, pain is not a good thing. Unless inflicted upon pretty, slash Newsies.

B: Mmmm, angst. But there's some fluff for ya; now feel better, hon!

****

Artemis-chan

F: Race sure does need his hit. As much as I need some freaking food...

B: Aaaah, fasting. But Race hasn't _quite_ come to terms with Itey and Sophia yet... Hee.

F: He'll ALWAYS be protective. My brother? Yeah, never gets over my boys.

B: Ditto for my older sister. Oh, and we promise not to die. ;)

F: Pinkie swear.

****

Shot Hunter

F: Yay! Snogging!Muses! ::claps::

B: I gotta say, snogging!muses are always fun...

F: Your fic is lovely m'dear.

B: I think I forgot to review the last chapter of Friday. -smacks forehead- But I promise, it was read.

F: I think I reviewed...if not I will.

B: And yay for Mafia!Race indeed. He's supahfun to write.

****

Lee

F: Someone didn't see it coming!!!

B: Mush is such a sweetie when it comes to Race. He's the bestest best friend ever.

F: Mush is just so PERFECT.

B: I hope you liked the fluff, we had so much fun writing it.

F: More than you know. Oh, and the tirimisu? She sure did love it!

B: SURE did. Yummmmmmmmm.


	8. Pretty Together

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

You've got a thing for me

I can feel it, I can feel it

And I've got a thing for you, too

You can have it

No strings attached

No copy to match

No drift to catch

No plans to hatch

No itch to scratch

Just infatuation

Is all you need

You could tell a million lies

And I'd think they all were true

Trust

That's my trust in you

It's what I value

And it's what I refuse to lose

You've got a thing for me

And I've got a thing for you, too

-Sloan, I Can Feel It

**__**

Chapter Eight: Pretty Together

"You okay?" Blink asked.

Race looked up from the drum set, where he'd been tapping his fingers and waiting anxiously for Itey to finish tuning so they could rehearse. Rehearsing without Dutchy was awkward at best, but they did need the practice, and Dutchy had voluntarily taken rehab. Race understood that; if nothing else, it meant he wouldn't have to deal with his friends until he was over the physical cravings, if not the mental ones.

"Fine."

"You just seem really distracted, is all. Just wanted to make sure--"

"No, I'm not on drugs. Thanks, _Mom."_

"Hey, you're the one who keeps bitching about cravings," Blink sulked, but Mush threw an arm around him and he stopped sulking quickly and got distracted.

Two hours. In two hours, Race would be dropping off his father's package. In two hours, he realized, his entire life might change.

His dad had given him a calm lowdown, as if Race wasn't his son at all, just another mail-boy that got shot off and hidden in the trunk of his right hand man's limo. That was what happened to the guy who was _supposed_ to be doing this.

"Racetrack," Mr. Higgins had rumbled under his breath. "Don't. You. Screw. This. Up."

He didn't have to tell him twice.

The package was downtown, and Race would be driving, inconspicuously, to pick it up at a pharmacy owned by the Paparellis, who Race had always thought were just a nice old Italian couple. He was learning a lot more than he wanted to.

"Dude," Blink said, and grinned. "You got hickeys."

Race rolled his eyes, and felt his neck. "This is becoming a trend," David said from his spot on the couch. "Who from?"

Without hesitation, Race answered "Tracy Marshell."

He didn't shoot a look at Spot; he didn't even have the vaguest idea what was going on between him and Spot now. They had acted surprisingly normal when they saw each other, complete with trading insults, as though nothing had happened. But Spot had pressed a piece of paper, torn out of a notebook, into his hand, and then winked. It was the writing he'd been promised.

So it wasn't like _nothing_ had happened. It was just... Weird. And it was weirder because Race wasn't freaked out by it; he didn't think of himself as gay, but maybe Spot was just some sort of exception, or maybe Spot defied sexuality all together.

Or maybe, he mused, it hadn't sunk in yet.

"Ught, Tracy?" Mush muttered.

"You could do better, Tony," David agreed.

"She's easy." He shrugged. It was true, and Tracy had been chasing him for several months and he was pretty well known in their school for random hookups and make out sessions, so his claim was totally believable. The fact that he couldn't stand Tracy Marshell really had nothing to do with it.

Race checked his watch, for the third time in the past minute, and let out a few Italian phrases under his breath. "Can we get this started?" he said then. "I have to go soon."

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Spot said lazily, drinking a beer. But Itey smiled apologetically.

"I'm almost done." He smiled. Race raised an eyebrow. He was having a hard time seeing Itey as Itey now that...well, Sophia had revealed that Itey was taking her out to _dinner_. At a Mexican restaurant.

That had sent Race into a panic.

Sure, Itey could date her. But if Mr. Higgins found out about it, and found out that he took her to a Mexican restaurant, he'd go nuts. Mr. Higgins had a _thing_ about keeping the family strictly Italian. Which meant that if friends or significant others were not Italian, he'd try to _make_ them Italian.

It didn't matter quite as much who Race chose to take out, but he did remember what had happened when Isabella had started dating... Shit had definitely hit the fan. Torturing friends of their children seemed to be his parents' hobby; the dinner his friends had been at was an extreme, but very few people actually felt welcome at the Higgins dinner table. Those who did were, with no exceptions, rich and Italian.

"Finished," Itey finally said. "So, should we start?"

Race nodded eagerly, and soon found himself lost in the drums. It was annoying that they weren't as good as the set he used at home; he had begun to think that, since he was rehearsing at Blink's more than at home, he should move his nice set. But he pushed that aside as he played, pushed the worries out of his mind, and just listened.

There was something missing without Dutchy on the guitar, but Itey was finally starting to come out of his shell on the bass. Race wondered if maybe that was _because_ Dutchy was missing, and there was no one for him to worry about keeping up with. He hoped it would continue to work so well when Dutchy came back.

Far more quickly than he'd like, Blink announced it was quarter after five, and that meant time for Race to get going. Race shrugged nonchalantly before he went out to his car--the first time any of the guys had seen it, and it had caused their jaws to drop collectively-- and though he'd said his goodbyes, Spot was still following.

"So," Spot said.

"Yeah." Race paused. "I'll call you tonight, okay?" 

Spot bit the inside of his cheek and hooked his thumbs through the belt loop on his jeans. "Yeah."

"I will."

"I'll be waiting by the phone, really."

Race laughed and Spot smirked back, something Race found impossibly sexy, with the addition of the belt-loop stance.

"Tony!" David called from the garage as he helped clean up the beer bottles discarded on the ground--Blink and Mush were saying goodbye and Itey was calling somebody on the cordless phone. "Tony, can I get a ride to school from you tonight?"

Race blinked and then his eyes widened. "Shit, the _band_ concert!"

"Yeah the band concert!" David replied. "Did you practice?"

"I never don't practice, I just forgot it was tonight." Race opened the car with the button on his keys; it made that oh-so satisfying beep noise as he jumped in without opening the door. Ah... convertibles. "I guess I _could_ give you a ride."

"Thank you, Mother Teresa."

"Yeah, yeah. I've gotta run some errands for my family; I'll do dinner early and pick you up afterwards."

"So long as we're on time. I'm not getting yelled at _again_ because of you."

"Well, then stop asking me for rides!" Race called as he started his car. He waved goodbye one last time before he pulled out.

Spot watched him go. "Damn, that's a nice car," he commented as he walked back into the garage.

"It was his birthday present when he turned sixteen." David rolled his eyes.

"Tough break about him and Tracy, huh?" Mush asked, and patted Spot's shoulder in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner. "I mean, I told you he was straight."

"Yeah." Spot managed to sound vaguely dejected; lying was one of his talents. "Yeah, straight as a fucking arrow, that guy." He wondered when Race would call if he had a concert, and decided to ask. "So, what's this about a concert?"

"Band," David replied, rushing by with the empty beer bottles and tossing them in the recycling bin. "Race plays drums, of course. I'm on the piano."

"And _I_ play trumpet!" Mush added proudly. "I got a solo." Blink smiled and snaked his arm around Mush's waist.

"Of course you did, you're perfect." He kissed Mush's cheek. "So, I have to come to this. When and where?"

David cleared his throat and turned to Spot; he'd abandoned the previous comments of Mush and Blink being 'sweet'. "Tonight at 7:30. In our auditorium--we couldn't book a concert hall."

"Oh, la dee da!" Spot replied. "Couldn't book a concert hall, I just _don't_ know if I could come."

Itey and Blink snorted while David looked reprimanding. "Hey, you guys know I live two blocks down, I know I know." He glanced at Mush, who shrugged.

"My dad's in oil, it's not _my_ fault," Mush pouted. "I'm not spoiled like Tony."

"That's true," Blink said, and Itey stood, having finished his phone conversation.

"Tony isn't so bad, he grows on you." Itey smiled. "He grew on me."

"You just have to wait for him to yeah, grow on you, that's all," David repeated. Spot and Blink looked thoughtfully at each other.

"So... if it takes awhile for him to grow on you, how did you two become friends with him?"

Mush and David looked a little started by the question. Spot figured Race had probably done something stupid that they'd helped him with or forgiven him for and they'd just worked up from there. It _was_ Race after all. No matter how much Spot was starting to like him, Spot knew that if Race was better now, he must have been quite the little asshole when he was younger.

"He..." David trailed off and looked helplessly at Mush.

"Yeah, he was..."

"Oh, just spit it out."

David shrugged. "Mush had a thing for him."

Blink actually gaped at his boyfriend. "You _WHAT?"_

"Well, it was a long time ago," Mush answered defensively. "I mean, David and I became friends pretty easily, and I came out right at the beginning of ninth grade, and it was kind of a big deal. Not a lot of gay people at our school... Well, not a lot who are _out_, anyway." He rolled his eyes. "And one thing you can say for Tony is he's not a homophobe, and so when I was getting _looks_ from almost everyone who I met, and just miserable, he was an asshole to me. But in exactly the same way he was an asshole to everyone else."

"So you had a thing for him because he was a jerk?"

"No, I had a thing for him because... because he's _him."_

"Oh, well that explains it." Spot rolled his eyes.

"Hey, _you_ have a thing for him!"

"Whatever."

"He's just... You know, once you get passed the initial asshole thing, and actually talk to him, he's okay. And we started to get along some, and then he had his nervous breakdown with the drugs and all and... Well, you know." He shot David a look, and David nodded.

"You go through that with someone, you end up pretty close," David finished.

"So how did you end up so close with him?" Itey asked David. "Besides the coke... thing."

David ruffled Mush's hair. "Buddy here brought me along for the ride. 'David, he'll never like me,' 'David, he's straiiighhhht', 'David, he's just so _hot',_ 'David-'"

"Shut up," Blink said swiftly, putting a protective arm around Mush. "He did _not."_

"Well..." Mush drifted off and Blink suddenly looked very horrified, and Mush rolled his eyes before giving him a peck on the lips. "Oh, don't be dumb. I don't feel that way any_more_. I only have eyes for you."

"And me when I take bottle caps off with my teeth," Spot supplied. He was answered with glares.

"You just _live_ to mess things up, don't you?" David asked. 

"Yeah, pretty much." Spot smirked.

"But," Blink snapped, "to be clear. You're over him."

"Well, yeah. He's straight. And was also totally, totally oblivious to the fact that I was throwing myself at him." He sighed. "It was kind of sad."

"It was extremely sad," David answered.

"Shut up."

"But you're over him."

"Oh, stop that," Mush snapped. "Yes I'm... Well, you know, it's hard to get over your first--"

"Mush!" Blink sounded like someone was strangling him.

"Of course I'm over him; he's my best friend, and we'd be terrible together even if he _was_ gay. He needs someone more..." He paused, and smirked over at Spot. "Bitchy," he finished.

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, you'd _like_ to. But I'm taken." He beamed over at Blink, who looked quite relieved and grinned back.

"Please," Spot snorted. "Don't sicken me."

"You're just jealous," Itey said, though the words sounded odd coming from the usually sweet-talking Itey's mouth. David, Mush and Blink noticed that as well. "You need to fall in love."

The goofy smile on Itey's face was quite sickening.

"What are you saying?" Spot said dully. The word 'love' was not usually in Spot Conlon's vocabulary. He even hated love stories--not because they made him uncomfortable, or because he was 'jealous', but simply because they were _lame._

"Nothin'," Itey replied in a dazed voice. "I have to use the phone."

And he floated off to pick up the cordless again.

"Sickening," Spot repeated.

"Hey, Itey!" Blink called after him. "I bet Tony's family will be there to see him, and I'm going anyway. You want to come with?"

Itey paused, and then grinned. "Yeah, that would be... Real nice."

"Jack said he was going," David added. "He's driving Blink and Itey I guess... So, Spot." He cocked his head.

"What?"

"Well, everyone _else_ is going..."

"Yeah, so?"

David grinned. "You have no idea how cute Tony is in our band uniform. They're practically _tuxedos._ And trust me, you'll want to see Tony in a tux."

Mush nodded, and Blink looked a little jealous, until they started kissing again. Spot made a very loud gagging noise.

"Well?" David asked.

He hesitated. On the one hand, he had no interest in going to see some snob school's band concert. On the other hand... Race, wearing a tuxedo, and apparently doing it well enough that even David (who had never questioned his straight-ness in his life) recognized his attractiveness.

"Fine," he sighed.

An eruption of 'aaaaaaaawwwww's followed Spot's answer, and Mush even went so far as to tickle Spot's stomach.

"Spotty's going to his boyfriend's _band_ concert!" Blink fluttered his eyelashes, and Itey put a hand to his heart and sighed.

"Just think," David choked. "We... we might play your song."

"Shut the fuck up!" Spot snapped, and though he never blushed, what he was doing right now was the closest non-blushing he had ever come to actually blushing.

"He's getting defensive," Itey said in a fake Australian accent. "Such is the nature of the beast, but what does it _mean_, Tom?"

"I propose aggression, Jim," Blink answered back. "He's being invaded in his natural habitat."

"SHUT UP."

"Hey, chill," Mush said. "You okay, Spot?"

"Fuck you all."

"He's fine," Mush declared, then leaned over and stage-whispered, "Don't worry, getting over Tony isn't _that_ hard. I know from experience."

"I hope you choke and die."

"Oh, come on. You can't expect us _not_ to have some fun with this," Blink said. "Especially if Tony is so oblivious he doesn't notice enough to mock you."

Spot didn't say anything.

There was a pause.

"You didn't do something stupid like _tell_ him, did you?" Mush finally demanded.

Spot shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. And you guys are fucking annoying me now, so I'm leaving."

"Jack's gonna leave around--" Itey started.

"I fucking _live_ with Jack, I think I'll be able to figure it out." Spot stalked off without another word, leaving slightly startled friends behind him.

There was a beat of silence before anyone said a word.

"I think the Australian crocodile hunter thing was a bit much, you two."

*

Race knew it was stupid, but he felt oddly _cool._ He was currently attempting to be in denial while he waited for Mr. Paparelli to find his package from the storage room in the basement of the pharmacy--which didn't look like a basement for a pharmacy, and required opening four inconspicuous locks to get in.

He figured, until he actually had to get serious and deliver this thing to the two boys from the other Family, he could at least pretend he was in a movie, which meant he'd probably have some trendy shoot out music, followed by getting laid.

That reminded him to call Spot.

It was a few minutes before the package was located, though he suspected that was mostly to make sure the timing was right. The timing, apparently, was vital; and if he arrived a minute or two early, could screw everything up. No one had explained to him _how_ it could screw everything up, but the fact that the consequences were potentially fatal certainly encouraged him to do exactly as he was told.

The package was small and heavy, and wrapped in plain brown paper, placed in a bag from the pharmacy along with a few other odds and ends--things off the shelves, so that anyone glancing in to the bag would assume it was full of normal, pharmacy-bought what nots.

Race didn't like having the weight of it in his hands. But then he remembered Dutchy was in rehab, and thanked Mr. Paparelli and headed back to his car. Part one was finished, now there was just the drive and the drop off.

Now, the daydreaming part was over--the driving was probably the most important part of the entire thing, even more then actually delivering the... whatever it was. He had to be perfect, he had to be smooth, and his father had warned him not to appear the least bit inexperienced. Just deliver and be done with it; if they made small talk, to smile and nod and be charming but not to do it for longer than a minute.

All the rules were clouding his brain, and making him worry. He had to concentrate, make sure he knew where he was going, make sure he didn't make a wrong turn.

Finally, he was nearing his destination, and started to decrease his driving speed.

As he pulled in, he wondered how many people were watching him from windows or rooftops. For all he knew, his father was one of them. For all he knew, someone who wanted to _kill_ his father was one of them. He parked, fumbled the keys slightly as he went to pocket them, took the package out of the bag and headed into the shop where he was delivering it.

It was the right address, and the right store. He'd been shown pictures of it, actual surveillance photos, which he'd found kind of creepy.

The guy behind the desk was a bored teenager, probably no older than he was, and he set the package on the desk but didn't let it go. "I have a delivery for the manager," he said, and managed not to sound like he was reciting a line from memory.

"Yeah, hang on a sec." The kid disappeared into the back, and an older man replaced him.

"You're a day late," the man noted, which would have startled Race if it hadn't been a password to acknowledge that he was the right person.

"Sorry, sir." Race shrugged, tried to appear nonchalant, and let the man take his package. He waited for a receipt before leaving, glad that no small talk had been involved. He was certain his voice would have cracked.

He was sure he didn't breath during the whole ordeal, even when he said goodbye in simple Italian and turned and left. It had seemed so easy, _too_ easy, so he was sure that someone was going to jump on his back and start bashing his head in with brass knuckles, yelling about disobeying Fat Tony or something.

It wasn't until he was a good eight blocks away that he started to almost hyperventilate. "Jeessussss..." He breathed, and then laughed. It _had_ been easy and he _wasn't_ dead.

He really _could_ call Spot later! 

He concentrated on Spot for the rest of the drive home. He figured maybe he should work out how he _felt_ about Spot before he got there, but no easy answers came to mind. He was attracted to Spot, that much was obvious. And he liked _talking_ to Spot; they could joke around and be cruel to each other, but they could also talk seriously. In some ways, he preferred spending time with Spot to spending time with Mush and David.

But he was straight.

Somehow, that didn't quite seem to add up.

*  


Spot wanted to shoot himself.

Really. He'd sooner be caught _dead_ than attending anything remotely related to school spirit. Which included sports events, pep rallies and _especially_ band concerts, which were not only annoyingly full of school spirit, but consisted only of geeks. At least when Jack dragged him to baseball games, he got to check out some ass.

He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Race.

Spot was seriously disturbed by the fact that he was sacrificing his self-image and well known distaste for things like band concerts, all for the sake of Race being there. It disturbed him more that everyone _else_ knew that, especially Jack, who'd been giving him knowing looks since they'd arrived.

Then Jack moved onto eyeing all the private school girls--some of whom were still wearing their uniform skirts... only shorter. Apparently, they belonged to the all girls school that was sister school to the all boys one Race went to. Sophia and Maria both went there; Isabella had graduated a few years previously. The two schools often held events together, and as a result, the concert was much longer--girl bands to get through as well as the boys'--and there were a lot more girls there than the handful of sisters Spot had expected. Which didn't bother him, until he overheard one asking another in the row in front of theirs, "Is that hot drummer guy still in this school?"

Because that could only be about Race, and the thought of the girls recognizing Race as a hot drummer didn't sit well with him. He wondered if one of the girls was Tracy Marshell, and if he could really be blamed for wanting her dead.

He figured that was probably too far, and sunk down in his seat, Jack on one side of him, Itey on the other. They were in the back, in an attempt to avoid being spotted by Race's family, or at least, by Race's father.

It almost worked. Spot glanced around, looked down the nearest aisle to his seat, and saw Sophia, Maria and Isabella walking towards the exit in the back, talking to each other. He poked Itey's arm, pointed, and Itey practically started drooling. Which would have been fine anyway, except that Isabella happened to glance over in their direction, and her eyes met Spot's with a look that was clearly recognition.

For a moment, dread formed in the pit of his stomach and he was sure she was going to come over and talk to them; she seemed prone to doing things she knew no one wanted her to. But instead, she gave a wave, and the most knowing look that Spot had ever seen.

Spot raised an eyebrow.

Isabella did too. She smirked.

Spot sort of grinned, and shrugged.

Isabella sat down, Spot looked away. Okay. So she had a sixth sense. That was creepy. Suddenly, Spot knew very much how Itey felt.

"Oh my _Gawwwwwd,_ look."

The high pitched, nasal sounds of the girls in front of them (Jack was checking them out _far_ too much) started to form what he was sure were giggles, and Spot looked to the stage.

Race had come out. He was fixing up the drumset, twirling his sticks in his fingers.

Spot stared.

Okay. So David was right; it _was_ worth coming just for that. Jack smacked his shoulder lightly. "Wipe the drool off your chin, Spot," he hissed.

"Fuck you," Spot answered, not taking his eyes away from the figure on the stage. It was like he'd been hypnotized and couldn't even _blink_ until Race happened to look up and scan the audience. His eyes stopped on his friends in the corner, and he looked pleasantly surprised for a second.

Then he saw Spot, and looked outright _shocked_. Spot waved a little bit, and Race nodded in acknowledgement and went back to fixing his drumset. But somehow, Spot couldn't help but grin.

"Did you see that, Tracy? He _totally_ smiled at you!"

"I _know_! Gawd, when is he going to ask me _out?"_

Jack, Itey, and Blink all heard it and turned to Spot, who was very, very tempted to throw the girls down the aisle.

"Look look, you see those drumsticks? I _totally_ signed one of them."

"Really?"

"I want to die," Spot muttered, and the others burst out laughing, loudly, causing the girls in front of them to stop talking and give them strange looks. Spot, not being able to resist himself, raised an eyebrow at the blond in the middle; who he had a _hunch_ was Tracy. "What?"

She stopped giving him a strange look, and instead smiled. Flirtatiously.

"Nothing," she replied, smiling. 

"You think he's cute?" Spot asked, and Jack hit him again, which he ignored.

"Yeah." She glanced over Spot again. "Though you're not bad yourself."

"So I've been told." He leaned forward, but Jack grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him back into his seat before he could do something that he, Race, and everyone who knew them would regret. It would be something embarrassing, to say the least; most likely it would have ended with Tracy running out of the auditorium in tears. Jack knew Spot far too well.

"Please ignore him," he said sweetly. "The boy's off his meds tonight, we weren't supposed to let him out of the house, but--"

"Fuck you, Jack," Spot said again.

Tracy giggled nervously, and her friend mouthed, "Oh my _gawd."_

"Want my number?" Spot offered innocently.

Tracy didn't answer. Spot punched Jack's shoulder, and Jack shrugged. Crisis averted, he figured.

When Tracey turned back around and started chatting with her friends again, Spot made a very obscene finger gesture at her back which caused Blink to snort, and Itey to let out a badly contained snicker. Jack remained mother-hen-esque, giving Spot's shoulder a hard punch.

"You're like some sort of little bitch," Jack muttered. Spot, in a good mood now that he flipped someone off, smiled.

"Just trying to make the world a better place." Then, with a courage he didn't know he had, added, "Just like Tony's tux."

Jack was about to reply, but Itey (whose neck was craned around to stare at Sophia) made a nervous noise.

"Dude, you guys, she smiled at me." He whipped his head around and stared ahead. "What do I do?"

Silence.

"Are you _serious_?" Jack asked.

"Do I sound like I'm _joking?"_

"Do this." Spot made dirty tongue movements. "They dig that."

__

"Spot!"

"Smile back at her," Jack said, leaning in front of Spot. "Wave."

"But what if she doesn't wave _back?!"_

"Well, you're missing your window of opportunity by freaking out," Jack pointed out. "You should have--" he stopped, as Itey took his advice, and shook his head sadly. "That was painful to watch, man. _So_ forced. She'll think you don't like her."

"Uh, can you see her from where you're sitting?" Blink asked, from the end of the row that was closest to where Race's sister sat.

"No, why?"

"Because she grinned back at him and blew him a kiss."

"Oh." Jack paused. "I really hate you, Itey."

Itey just smiled dreamily.

A hush started over the audience, and the four boys turned to the stage ("It's startiiinnnggg!" Tracey giggled) to see the band file on, Race at the back, the shortest of them all, and Mush beaming like a two year old at the Christmas Pageant.

Blink looked very proud.

David seemed embarrassed beyond belief, despite the fact he'd done this so many times before. But Spot knew that Davey wasn't exactly the stage type.

The conductor, a fat woman in her fifties, looked out at the audience and started to go on about something that Spot didn't give a shit about; besides, he was too busy staring at Race.

Who was staring back at him.

Spot couldn't help it, he smiled, and nodded his head. Race saluted him with his drumsticks, still looking fairly stunned that Spot had shown up at all.

"He's looking at you," Jack mumbled to Spot, though it sounded almost like a question--like Jack didn't get it either.

Spot shrugged. "I know."

"Why the hell is he looking at you?" Jack hissed in Spot's ear.

"Because I'm _hot?"_ Spot suggested. "He's straight, not blind."

"You look like shit tonight."

"No, I don't, but that was a nice try."

Tracy turned around and shhh'd them loudly, and Spot flipped her off again as soon as she went back to watching. He figured she probably thought that Race was flirting with _her_, and hoped she'd be absolutely crushed to realize he wasn't after the concert, when he went to talk to Spot first. And Spot was certain that he would.

The first song started with a drum roll, and Race turned his attention to his playing, but Spot didn't stop staring. Race was just so _hot_ when he played, his concentration totally on what he was doing but with this smile on his face like he was the happiest person in the entire universe to be up on the stage with drumsticks in hand... And he was wearing a tuxedo. Spot was a little fixated with the tux.

Race ended the drum roll with a smash on the cymbal and then the saxophones started in on some really fast, jazzy sort of beat that Race drummed along to, looking totally in place with himself, and completely natural.

Mush, though his solo had not yet made appearance, beamed and grinned and smiled until the trumpets came in, where, for some reason, Spot was sure the loudest one was Mush.

David hadn't started yet, but when he did, Spot had to admit he was fairly surprised. David was so modest, they forgot about his talent. It wasn't as if he was a prodigy, but he _did_ play _very_ well.

Then it was a drum solo, and Race went _nuts_.

In a good way.

Spot decided, in a very hot way indeed.

"See something you like?" Itey murmured in his ear.

"He's _hot,"_ Spot snapped back. "Even _you_ should be able to tell that."

Itey gave Race another look. "I guess," he said. "He looks kind of like his sister."

Spot made a disgusted face, then it turned thoughtful. "I...dude, he kind of _does_."

"Who does what?" Blink asked, his mouth full of the peanut M&M's he'd snuck in (they actually had people at the front _looking through their pockets)._

"Tony looks like his sister."

Blink turned to look at Sophia, then peered at Race. "Huh...WOAH."

"What?" Jack asked. "What, what am I missing?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing."

"Mind your own business, Jacky."

Jack pouted and slumped in his chair.

Spot smirked at him, and went back to watching Race on the stage. Race just looked so content, so genuinely happy at the drums, and so goddamned gorgeous in the tux...

The music wasn't bad either, he noted in the back of his mind. But that wasn't the important part.

The important part was that Race actually looked up from what he was doing, grinned out into the audience, and caught Spot's eye. Somehow, the look on his face--was that lust? Spot wondered--made his attendance at the concert worthwhile.

"Tracy," one of the girls in front of him hissed to the blond. "He's like, not looking at you. I think he's looking _behind_ you."

There was silence, and both girls tried to inconspicuously turn their heads to try and find the culprit who dare take Race's attention away from Tracy.

All they got was Spot giving them a smile.

They paled slightly, and looked confused, then turned back to the stage.

__

That also made the concert worthwhile.

"Spot," Jack hissed, and poked him in the ribs. "Something is going on, and you're going to tell me what."

"What?"

"You and Tony. _Something_ is going on."

"We talked."

"What?"

Tracy turned around and shhhh'd them again, and Spot rolled his eyes, and continued to Jack, "Last night. We _talked_ and it didn't suck."

"What did you talk _about?"_

"We just _talked_, okay? Like normal friends."

"You don't _have_ normal friends."

"You just burned yourself, dumbass."

Jack closed his eyes in what he seemed to think would represent wisdom. "I have come to terms with my abnormal ways long ago. I know you." Jack poked Spot's stomach again, and Spot whapped his shoulder. "Come ON. You talked, okay, about what?"

Spot was silent and he stared angrily at Jack. Unfortunately, Jack _was_ his brother, and he _did_ know him well, and Jack was the only person in the world unfazed by Spot's glares.

Finally Spot shrugged. "About us."

Jack's eyes widened. _"What?"_

"Us."

"What ABOUT you two?"

Spot smiled and tried to close off the subject--let Jack stew, for all he cared, but Jack wasn't giving up so easily.

"SPOT."

"You're making a scene, Jack."

"You _love_ making scenes, don't make me drag you outside and beat you senseless."

"I'd like to see you _try_ it, jackass. Heh. _Jack_ass."

"That wasn't funny the first time you said it, the first day we met, Spot. And--and fuck you, what do you mean_, 'you two'?"_

Spot sat there for a minute. "When the band's done," he promised. "Outside. 'Cause..." He nodded his head forward towards Tracy Marshell, and then sideways towards Blink and Itey. Jack nodded.

Spot knew he wouldn't have been able to side step out of Jack's wrath. Now that Spot really thought about it, he and Jack were close. _Real_ close. And Spot wanted to tell someone, because he figured he should have bragging rights--he'd made out with the All Mighty Straight Tony Higgins.

It was more than that, though. There'd been something behind it.

Then Spot paled. He'd given Race some of his writing.

Shit, he'd forgotten about that. 

The conductor announced the last song, and Spot went back to ignoring the people around him, and just watching Race, and began to get almost nervous when the band filed off and a band of girls filed on. Tracy Marshell and her friend got up to leave; Spot noticed they were dressed for the girl's chorus, and almost smirked.

Straight Race liked to make out with choir girls. Well, chorus girls. Almost the same thing.

And Straight Race also liked to make out with him. Yeah, he got bragging rights.

Jack swatted his shoulder. "Talk," he said. Spot nodded, got up, and pressed his way out past Itey and Blink to get to the aisle, Jack following behind him.

"What's up?" Itey asked.

"Nothing; back in a few."

"Uh...?"

"Brother stuff." Jack shrugged.

"Spot skip school again, and you gotta lecture him?" Blink asked, smirking. Spot kicked his chair, and walked out, Jack still following.

They didn't say much as they walked up the steps, but Spot caught Sophia's eye as they were leaving and gave her a nod, then indicated the seat next to Itey was now empty. Sophia blushed, and nodded slightly, then apprehensively turned to her father as Spot and Jack left the auditorium.

When they finally filed out of the room and into the large, rich, and ridiculously polished hallway, Jack poked his finger into Spot's chest.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"What?" Spot shrugged. "I talk to someone and suddenly I raped him?"

"You did, didn't you?"

"No!" Spot leaned against the wall. "He started it."

"...WHAT?"

"Oh, calm down. _He_ called _me_ last night while you were out with Dave, and invited me over to hang out. I went. He cooked dinner. We hung out. I admitted I liked him. We talked some more. He kissed me." He shrugged. "We made out for awhile. I went home."

__

"WHAT?"

"Jesus, Jack. We _just_ made out, we're not fucking _dating_ or anything. And it's not like it didn't happen before."

"Yeah, but this time he was sober."

"Yeah, so?"

"So he's _straight?"_

"Guess not."

"Spot--"

"What? Seriously, Jack. I'm okay with it. He seems to be, and he was gonna call me tonight to talk _anyway_, so what the fuck is the problem?"

"Nothing," Jack snapped. "Not your problem."

"Jack..." Spot muttered, because he knew Jack as well as Jack knew him. 'Not your problem,' meant, 'Tony's problem.' 

"Spot, he isn't good FOR you, let alone WITH you." Jack crossed his arms. "I know you like him, okay? But Tony has this problem called narcissism." He said it slowly in Spot's face--when Jack was mad, he was an ass. "And that means he doesn't give two shits about anyone but himself."

"Yeah, well, you fucking don't know him at _all_ then," Spot spat, shoving Jack away from him, not being able to stand the breath. "He doesn't tell you anything for a reason."

Jack rolled his eyes and then let out a laugh. "You are so fucking naive."

Spot's mouth dropped open, literally, and he shook his head. "I'M fucking NAIVE?"

"Yes."

"Oh, fuck _you,_ Kelly!" Spot snapped. "I'm not--"

"You are. About him. Okay? Just shut the hell up and listen to me!"

Spot narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he snapped.

"Look. You haven't had a crush on someone in a long time, and you've forgotten little details like it fucking skews your vision, you can't tell--you make things better than they are. The guy is a fucking cocaine addicted _snob,_ he doesn't give a damn about you, or me, or anyone else but himself.

"He _doesn't give a damn?!"_ Spot snapped back. "The guy got the crap beat out of him by his dad because he _dared_ to _like_ us, yeah, fucking _selfish_ of him."

"Spot--"

"Yeah, and then he fucking went where he knew he was at risk because he wanted to _help_ Dutchy and almost got himself _killed_. Yeah, _real_ fucking selfish."

"SPOT, you KNOW I'm right."

"The hell you are!"

"Spot, listen to me--"

"No, YOU listen to ME for once!" Spot shoved Jack again, which caused the taller boy to stumble slightly because he hadn't expected it. "You fucking need to BACK OFF. He made mistakes, and he KNOWS he did, but if you haven't forgotten, he fucking gets chewed out every time he comes to see us. And not even just US, have you SEEN how much his sister fucking follows him everywhere he goes? "

"Spot--"

"Dude, last time I checked, everything he did was for his sisters anyway--"

"Spot--"

"You might want to take a few fucking lessons on being a brother. ASSHOLE."

"Hey!" Jack snapped back. "I'm _being_ a responsible brother here, _Sean_, and the guy is fucking _bad_ for you! He's bad for _all_ of us, and if he doesn't want to deal with his dad he should fucking leave us all alone!"

"Yeah? Then where the hell would Dutchy be, dead?" Spot snarled. "I _like_ him, okay? And--and I think he might like me, and that means he's probably going to freak out and need a lot of support, and he _does_ kind of think you're his friend, so either you give it to him and _me_, or you leave us _both_ the hell alone."

"Spot--"

"No, Jack. You're in or you're out. If he doesn't want me, or decides he _is_ straight, whatever. I'll fucking hate him for it. But--but you don't fucking get to decide that for him, or me, you GOT that?"

Jack just stared at him for a long second, then nodded. "Yeah. Whatever."

"Good."

"...you _are_ a fucking moron, though."

"Fuck you."

"And I'm a good brother, damn it."

Spot said nothing, Jack punched his shoulder, and then glanced down the hall. Coming from the back door into the auditorium was the last person he wanted to see; Racetrack himself. But what was really strange was that he wasn't alone.

Tracy Marshell was hanging off his arm.

Spot, for the first time in his entire life, blushed. He knew Jack's eyes were on him, knew he looked like an idiot, knew his words now sounded completely and utterly stupid...

He was fucking _blushing,_ that fucking _asshole_.

"And are we surprised, ladies and gentleman?" Jack muttered under his breath.

Spot didn't reply. He knew he was staring at Race, open mouthed again, still blushing. And he felt like such a fucking idiot.

"Don't jump to your fucking conclusions," Spot snapped quickly. His voice sounded pathetic.

Great. He was blushing _and_ pathetic. And he very much wanted to beat Race's head in for making him feel that way--but at the same time, he didn't want to at all. It was just that he _wanted_ to want to. He knew he ought to; that that was how he reacted to things. But Race... He didn't want to hurt him, even though he was hurt.

And he _was_ hurt.

That was just _weird_.

Race looked up, saw them, and waved. Tracy giggled again, and Race practically pranced down the hall to them. "Hey, guys," he said cheerfully. "This is Tracy."

"We met," Spot said, his voice acidic, as he looked at her again. _And I'm way more attractive than she is,_ he told himself. Except that didn't matter. Because Race fucking liked _girls._ The asshole.

"You did?"

"She was sitting right in front of us," Jack explained, then gave her his trademark gentlemanly smile. "Jack Kelly," he introduced himself. "And that's Spot."

"Spot?" she asked.

Spot opened his mouth to make an incredibly inappropriate comment about stained underwear, but Jack not so subtly cut him off by stomping on his foot. He glared in response.

"Yeah. Spot," he snarled, and Race very nearly winced from hearing it. That was something, at least.

"Yeah, they're the guys I told you about," Race interrupted. "From the band. Well, not _in_ the band, but... Fun to party with."

She giggled. "When are you going to invite _me_ to a party, Tony?"

"Uhhhh..." He ran a hand through his slicked back hair, then shrugged. "The chorus'll be on in a minute, you should go get ready, Trace."

She pouted. "But you didn't answer my question."

He laughed, patted her ass, and winked. She sighed, then giggled, and headed back the way she'd come from. Spot glared after her, then turned to Race to do a large amount of very loud cursing, and stopped short when he saw how much Race's expression had changed.

"I fucking _hate_ her," Race muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed, then looked up. "But I can't believe you _cam_e to this." And he smiled.

And Spot couldn't help it, he smiled back. "Fucking _told_ you so, Jack," was his only comment.

Jack, for a moment, looked torn between cussing Race out anyway, or letting his pride take a back seat to his common sense.

Finally, Jack gave Spot's back a pat, and grinned a little at Race. "I'm gonna go find Itey and make sure he hasn't screwed over his chances with your sister. Talk to you later."

Race's face darkened. "Yeah, make sure you don't get your motives mixed." 

Jack put his hand to his heart. "My intentions are of the honorable sort."

"You are full of so much shit."

"I am." He winked. "Be good, kiddies." Then he strutted off, and Spot couldn't help it, he smiled at his back because Jack left them alone for _him_.

They were quiet a moment, neither sure of what to say, but Spot had to get it out, so he started. "Fuck, she was so annoying."

Race laughed, and Spot remembered he loved that laugh.

"Yeah, I know," Race replied. "She has these... thoughts in her head that we're meant to be together. Because we made out at a party like, a year ago."

Spot gave him a look. "Hey hey, don't knock making out at parties, sometimes something comes from that." Spot hooked his finger on Race's collar and pulled the shirt down a little to expose Race's lovebites. "Like those. I am _so_ good."

Race swatted at his arm, and glanced around, blushing slightly. "Make sure no one can hear you, okay?" Spot scowled. "No, seriously, people _still_ try and kick the shit out of Mush."

"Let's go somewhere else then, if you're going to get all twitchy about it." Spot turned on his heel and started towards the front door.

Race swore, looked around again, deciding whether or not to go with him. His family might be looking for him, but then again, Sophia was probably with Itey at the moment, and maybe he'd be lucky and his dad would want to go and shake hands with Mush again, telling him what a bright future he had.

On band concert nights, his dad was nice to Mush. Because Mr. Higgins loved the trumpet. A lot.

He hated drums.

With that thought in his head, Race followed Spot's steps and out the front door. The cold wind rushed into his face, and he swore in surprise. Spot laughed a little at his right; he was wearing a coat, the bastard.

"Here." Spot took a tuque out of his pocket and shoved it into Race's hands.

Race blinked. "Thanks."

"Your hair looks like shit."

Race's tone changed. "_Thanks_."

"You did good."

Then, with a brighter tone. "Thanks!" Spot was giving him an odd look now, and Race cleared his through. "You came, Spot."

"I know."

"Why did you come?"

Spot hesitated, then finally muttered, "Because I fucking _like_ you and... It seemed like the sort of thing a guy does for a guy he likes."

"You're such a romantic." Race nodded over to a picnic table that was set on the front lawn. There were four of them, all perfectly painted, with plaques set in to the benches to commemorate people who'd donated to the school. Spot didn't know if he should be impressed or disgusted; even the fucking _picnic tables_ looked snobby.

Race sat at the closest table, and Spot sat next to him.

"So," Race said. "I guess we should... Like, talk, or something."

"Yeah, that's enthusiastic."

"Fuck you. I'm not good at this."

"You think _I_ am?"

Race shrugged. "Fair enough. But at least you're not having a crisis of... of... questioning your... you know."

"Yeah; I worked that shit out when I was fourteen. I'm gay. It's fun. So what about you?"

"I'm fucking _confused."_ Race fiddled with the hat in his hands for a second, then realized he should probably actually put it on. Then realized he looked stupid with it on, and took it back off. "I mean..." he continued, when Spot didn't respond. "Just, I like spending time with you. And last night, God, I fucking _wanted_ you. But I'm not--I've never--I've never, ever, _ever_ been attracted to a boy before. I like girls. A lot."

"I noticed," Spot said, watching Race wring the hat in his hands. He snorted in frustration, yanked the hat out of his hands and shoved it on Race's head.

"Ow! Hey, it looks--"

"It looks fine, girly girl, and it'll keep you warm."

Race was blushing again--he'd been doing that a lot lately. Since when did Spot care about someone being _warm_? "Look, Spot, I--"

"If you're not gay, you're not gay," Spot continued, sounding oddly pissed off, but in a mechanical kind of way. Like he was pushing himself to be angry to cover something _else_ up. "I mean, fine, go fuck Tracy or whoever."

Race rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be stupid. I told you, I like spending time with you. A lot. I've just never felt this way about a guy before."

Spot wasn't looking at him. "You like girls, okay. Have you ever _wanted_ a girl? Actually _wanted_ one?"

"Yeah, I--"

"No, answer me seriously." Spot met his eyes, looking unsure...in a Spot kind of way. "Do you want to screw girls?"

Race stared down at the well manicured lawn in front of him.

"No," he said quietly.

"What?" Spot suddenly sounded like he was choking on something. Like he really hadn't expected to hear that.

"No. I don't... I mean, I've made out with girls, gone a little farther, but... Never really... You know, wanted to go all the way."

"So you want to fuck boys?"

"No!" Race snapped, then, "Fuck, maybe. I don't _know_, okay? I don't fucking _know._ I just--you know, if Isabella hadn't gotten home last night..." He was blushing again. "I wanted to screw you a lot more than I ever wanted Tracy."

"Well, yeah," Spot said. "You've got _eyes_ right? And ears? 'Cause her voice is fucking _irritating_."

"I know. But--I mean, I've never been attracted to a boy before, just... You." He paused. "You're gonna get cocky again, right?"

"Fuck yeah. I just turned a guy gay."

"You did _not_ turn me gay, I'm not--" he stopped. "Okay. So maybe I'm kind of gay, I guess. Since I'd rather be with you than a girl."

"Sounds pretty gay to me."

"Yeah, I guess," Race said quietly.

"You okay?" Spot asked. Race definitely did _not_ look okay.

"I don't know what I am." Race groaned, and let his head fall to the table with a _thunk_. "I was never gay _before_ this."

Spot gave his back an awkward kind of pat. "Come on, think of _one_ time. There has to be one."

"..."

"One, Tony."

"...well..." Race sat back up, looking emotionally drained. "I mean, maybe when Mush is in the locker room. And David has a really nice smile."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Mush, I get. David, not computing."

"He _does_ have a nice smile."

"So does Martha Stewart, but I don't want to jump _her_ bones."

Race was looking at Spot impatiently as Spot was grinning in a very smart assed and irritating way. "I don't want to jump David's bones."

"You want to jump _my_ bones."

"Shut _up!"_

"Well, you _do_. You said so."

"Fuck you."

"Okay." Spot smirked and pointedly uncrossed his legs.

"SPOT!" Race half-yelped, looking slightly horrified, and punched his shoulder.

"Well, you offered.

"F--go to hell." But Race was smiling now. He looked nervous, but was smiling.

"But seriously, _David?"_

"Well, I didn't have a crush on him or anything. And besides," he paused to smirk, "he's straight."

"Fuck _you_."

"You'd _like_ to."

"Hell, yeah."

Race laughed again, and looked away, because he was so sick of blushing and knowing how smug that made Spot.

"...But you're okay?"

"Yeah, just kind of... Shaken up."

"Hey. You're gay. It's fun." Spot put a hand on Race's thigh, and Race looked back, sort of terrified, and stood up quickly.

"Not in public!" he snapped. "I--oh fuck, I can't--"

"Can't what?"

"Can't be _gay!_ At this school? With my incredibly bigoted parents? Oh, Christ..." He sat down again. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick. He'll disown me."

Spot, for the first time since the conversation had started, turned truly serious. He'd forgotten about Race's father. He knew Race was right; Mr. Higgins, if he knew, would most likely do something drastic. Like disowning his son.

Race had his face in his hands, and was muttering swear words under his breath, breathing kind of hard, looking very vulnerable. Spot checked to make sure no one was watching, and put his hand on the back of Race's neck. Race looked up at him.

Spot had been so ready to tell him not to worry about it, that everything would be fine. But Spot had never once in his life believed words like those. He was such a cynic, used to everything falling to shit.

But he didn't want that to happen with Race. Race was different.

Still, he couldn't think of anything at all to say. He just stared at his... boyfriend? Friend?

"Tony..." Spot muttered. "Come on, he doesn't have to know. He's a bastard, we know this. You keep lots of things from him."

"So what, you won't care if I don't tell my parents we're dating?" Race snapped back, clearly still panicked. "Because _I_ fucking care!"

"No, I don't--" Spot stopped. "We're dating?"

Race froze.

"Uh," he managed to say.

"...Because if you want to, I mean, that would be cool." Race didn't respond. "Tony?" he asked, then waved a hand in front of the seemingly frozen Race's face. "TONY?"

"Yeah," Race said quietly. "Yeah, I'd... I think I'd like that."

"Good."

"...but my _family."_

"Doesn't have to know."

"You won't be offended?"

Spot smirked. "Just don't ever flirt with Tracy fucking Marshell again, and I'll be fine with it."

"But if we get _caught--"_

"We won't."

"But my dad finds _everything_ out eventually."

"He won't. Not this. We'll be careful."

Race paused, then, "You must really like me. 'Cause I know _I_ wouldn't want to risk my dad's temper...."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Spot said, and could have kicked himself for it. He was giving Race an out; he was doing it because he liked Race enough he'd rather see Race happy and safe than with him, but that was just stupid. Because he really, really, _really_ wanted Race to be with him.

Race was quiet for what felt like an eternity, then commented softly, "Maybe he won't find out. And maybe being disowned wouldn't be so bad. Or maybe he'd just be so glad I'm not back on drugs..."

"Tony?"

"Oh, fuck it all. I like you, and you're the first person I've ever liked this much."

"Is that a yes?"

"Why the hell am _I_ saying yes? I asked _you_ out!"

"You did _not_, you just assumed and _I_ had to ask."

"What_ev_er."

They were quiet, both feeling kind of giddy over what had just happened, Race's face very red, Spot's smirk slowly turning into an actual smile. Spot's eyes traveled to the top of Race's head and he snorted.

"You look so damned..." He coughed. "The hat. It suits you."

"No it doesn't. I look four years old."

"You saw yourself for two seconds in the reflection of a fucking window," Spot responded, tugging at the top of the hat and bringing it over Race's ears.

"I still look four."

"Not four, just..." He grinned, in a dirty way_. "Young."_ Race edged back a bit.

"Are you trying to tell me you have a Lolita complex?"

"Lolita was a _girl_," Spot answered.

"You trying to tell me you have a..." Race paused. "Loel complex?"

Spot rolled his eyes, then asked semi-curiously, "Hey... Did you ever read that, uh, thing?"

Race grinned. "During dinner, yeah. Of course I did."

Spot paused, waited as long as he could before demanding, "_Well?!_ What did you _think?"_

Race began to play with the bottom fold of the hat, and Spot grabbed his hand and yanked it away. "Well?" he demanded again, leaning in towards Race, so close they were very nearly kissing.

"It was good," Race breathed, then abruptly pulled away. "Fuck. We've got to be more careful than that."

"Just _good_?"

Race looked a little astonished that Spot seemed more interested in what Race thought about his writing than he was in how close they were to kissing. It reminded Race that they actually liked each other; they weren't just horny.

The idea of liking Spot was more scary than the idea of wanting Spot.

"I'm really bad with critiquing." Race cleared his throat. "But..."

"It sucked."

"No, it--"

"I know, I suck, I shouldn't have given that to you."

"It didn't-"

"Fuck, writing is for pussies anyway."

"SPOT, I was GOING to say that if your school has a literary magazine or something--"

"NO."

"It was _good_."

"It was not."

"Yes it _was_. You're _good_ at it." He grinned. "You're good at something besides giving me hickeys and being an asshole!"

"Fuck you!"

Race just smiled. "Seriously. You should get it published."

"No way in hell. Writing is for pussies."

__

"You write. Well."

"Yeah, but no one knows but you and Jack, so it doesn't count."

"It _so_ does."

"I am _not_ a pussy!"

"You _write."_

"Well, you _cook."_

"I don't deny that I cook." Race leaned forward, grinning. "In fact, I cook very well. And your writing was..." He searched for words in his head. "Abstract. Morbid. And very, very good."

Spot was scratching at the table with his nails.

"You serious or are you shitting me because we're into each other?" Spot said, sounding distracted as he scratched at the table.

"Don't do that, it looks painful."

"Answer me."

Race grabbed Spot's hand, and Spot turned to look at him. "It was good. Really good."

"Serious?"

"Serious. Can I see more?"

Spot grinned, then ducked his head. "I might have some other shit lying around, I'll see."

"Good. I really liked it. It was... A lot better than I expected from you." 

"Uh, thanks?"

"I mean, deeper. You don't seem... Deep. And it was kind of disturbing. Which was less surprising."

"So you think I'm shallow and disturbed. _Thanks."_

"I also think you're sexy as hell, if that helps."

"Yeah, it does." Spot smirked. "So what did you like about it?"

Race rolled his eyes. "I thought it wasn't a big deal, just something you had lying around, and you didn't care?"

"Fuck you, _no one_ reads my stuff, so no one ever tells me how it is!"

"Well, then you should _let_ people read it!"

"No!"

"Then I don't see how you not getting the attention you're _so_ starved for is my fault."

"I am not starved for attention, fucker," Spot shot back at him. "I'm not the one with the bright red convertible that I drive around with the top down, _even in the cold."_

Race shoved him. "It's a nice car."

"So is Jack's van."

Race wrinkled his nose. "That van is _ugly."_

"And warm."

"And ugly."

"And it has a lot of room in it. And I have the keys."

__

"Spot."

"Just making conversation." Spot shrugged. "But I do have the keys."

"We don't have time anyway; my parents will be coming out soon."

"Heh. I thought that was what _you_ had to do."

"Don't joke about that," Race snapped, then sighed. "But I should get inside before people realize I'm gone, so I can deal with my legions of admirers."

"Your _what?"_

"See, I'm not attention starved because I get _lots_ of attention on concert nights." Race smirked.

"Yeah, whatever. Just remember, I get dibs on you as soon as they're done."

Race nodded, stood, and added, "By the way, Mush and David and I always go out for ice cream after concerts. If my Dad'll actually let me go, you wanna come with?"

"You asking me on a date?"

Race rolled his eyes. "Sure. We can break the news to Mush and Dave and see if they freak out."

Spot started to answer sarcastically, then stopped and realized there _was_ a slight chance of Mush freaking out. If Mush had really liked him _that_ much when they met... But Mush would just have to deal with that.

"Yeah, I guess I could go."

"Good." Race paused. "I'd kiss you, but parents. And you're not a fan of PDAs."

"I _do_ have those car keys..."

"Come on. Let's go in."

They couldn't resist holding hands for a few moments before reaching the main doors, and Race was the last one to loosen his grip. Spot had rough hands, but the tips of his fingers were smooth, despite the bumps on the edges he got from holding a pencil so much.

Race was surprised by how interesting someone's hands could be.

"You want your hat?" Race asked. Spot shrugged, and tugged at it again, pulling it back over Race's ears.

"Nah." Spot turned and opened the door as he stepped inside. "You look kinda cute."

Race didn't have a chance to reply because Spot slammed the door in his face. "Jerk," Race mumbled to himself, but he was smiling, and pushed the door open before following him in. The lobby was starting to fill with people; apparently the concert was wrapping up while he was having his sexual identity crisis outside. Spot had already managed to weave his over to where Jack, Blink, Itey and (Race was mildly annoyed to note) Sophia were standing.

He saw Tracy gossiping with someone and ducked out of her sight, and someone tapped his shoulder. Startled, he turned around and saw Isabella standing behind him.

"Congrats, _Fante_. You didn't suck."

"I love you too, Izzy."

"I know." She paused, then commented innocently, "You know, if you ever feel the urge to tell me something--if you're afraid that the family might not understand--well, I promise to listen and understand. Okay? So you can tell me anything. You know, if you ever want to."

He gaped at her for a second. "Uh, right. I'll keep that in mind."

"Good, you do that. Dad's busy talking to Professor Aiosa, he and mom will be here in a second."

"And Maria?"

She pointed towards his friends, and he saw that Maria was there too, blushing as Jack said something to her. "I'll kill him," Race muttered.

Isabella ignored him. "Gabriel is _really_ sweet. How did you ever make friends with someone so nice?" She ruffled his hair. "Sophia won't stop talking about him."

"Shut UP," Race snapped. Isabella rolled her eyes.

"Please Tony, it's only talking."

"Yeah, but talking leads to dating which leads to kissing, which leads to sex, which leads to IMPREGNATION."

A silence followed Race's outburst, but he didn't notice. Isabella just snorted and walked away. Race, sure that he'd made his point, walked purposefully over to his friends, and hoisted Maria up from under her armpits.

"Ow! Tony!"

"Don't talk to him, he only wants you for your looks," Race said to Maria. Jack laughed.

"She's _twelve_, Tony. I was just joking." He looked suddenly startled. "Um, you knew I was joking, right?" he asked Maria.

"I'm _twelve_, not _stupid_," she answered.

"I can see she has your family charm," Spot noted, and Race elbowed him in the side. Maria rolled her eyes, which seemed to be the best response to Spot at almost any given point, and Race had to bite back a smile. He was vaguely worried that he found Spot's smartass remarks _endearing_.

"And as for _you--"_ he said, and pointed a finger menacingly at Itey, who winced.

"Tony!" Sophia snapped. "Stop it!"

He paused, the settled for glaring at Itey for a second. "You just watch it," he finally said.

"Yessir."

"Dude, did you just call him _sir?"_ Blink laughed. 

"Oh, don't call him _sir,"_ Sophia told Itey, and shot Race a smile. "It'll make his head bigger than it already is."

"Better a big head that a big stomach."

"Shorty."

"Fatty."

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

"You're not fat," Itey said firmly, then turned red when Sophia and Race gave him odd looks--no one had ever interrupted one of their arguments before.

David cleared his throat. "Tony, can we go? Mush needs sugar, he's deteriorating."

Indeed, Mush was slumped on top of Blink, looking ready to snore.

"Yeah, I just gotta..." He sighed. "Ask Dad for permission, because I'm still more or less grounded."

"But he always lets you go."

"But I usually didn't have a relapse three days before." He shrugged. "We'll see." He glanced around the crowded room, saw his father was waiting with his mother and Isabella, and picked his way over to them. It was more difficult than it should have been, as he was stopped about eight times by people congratulating him. But the adoration didn't stroke his ego for a change, it just annoyed him. He wanted to get out of there, with Spot, so they could have a chance to be somewhat alone together...

"Racetrack," his father greeted him, sounding surprisingly pleasant. "The concert was impressive."

"Thank you, sir."

His mother hugged him, and Isabella gave him that annoying _look_ again. "People just keep telling us how wonderful you are," his mother gushed.

"Uh, thanks," he said. "I practice a lot."

"I know," his father said dryly. "You cause quite a racket."

He sighed. That didn't sound inviting, but he had to at least give it a shot... "Uh, sir?" he started. "I was just wondering. Um, usually after concerts Michael and David and I--"

"No."

His shoulders slumped, and he nodded. "Yes, sir," he murmured quietly, his reply practically lost in the noise of the crowd.

"Daddy," Isabella broke in. "It's just ice cream, right, Tony?"

"Yeah."

"Isabella--" his father started, but she interrupted him.

Race still wondered how Isabella, out of everyone he'd ever met, was the _only_ one who could get away with interrupting his father, or talking him down once he'd made up his mind. He supposed it was because she was the oldest child or something.

"Okay, so he screwed up, but what if Sophia and I go with him?" she asked. "I mean, it's just ice cream."

Race didn't have the heart to tell her not to bother, because he really wanted to just be with Spot and tell his friends, and he couldn't do either one with his sisters there. But she looked quite pleased to have a solution.

And even more pleased when his father said, "Fine," and nodded slowly.

Race, with a sigh, and a few more words with his mother and father about being home, made his way reluctantly to his friends, Isabella happily trailing behind him.

"You're evil," Race said.

"How am I evil? I just got dad to let you go."

"You have a hidden agenda."

"Against you? Always!"

Race raised an eyebrow. But what did she have on him? He'd have to keep on his toes... what if she really _did_ like Spot?

__

Ha.

Over his dead body.

"I can come," he said, sliding up next to Spot, keeping his distance, but allowing his fingers to 'accidentally' brush Spot's. He looked at Maria. "You cannot."

Maria pouted. "But you OWE me. Because you're an idiot."

Race was glad Maria was calling him an idiot instead of holding a grudge about his relapse. Still, he hated how little he'd been spending time with her since then.

"I'll take you out tomorrow, okay?" he said, taking her hand and pulling her out of the circle his friends had formed as they talked with one another. "I promise. Dinner and everything."

Maria looked up at him. "You won't ever do it again, right?"

"Maria, I--"

"You promise?"

As he looked at her, never before was he more determined to never again touch a line. "I...promise."

She kissed his cheek, and without a word, ran over to their parents.

"Sweet kid," Jack noted.

"Extremely," Isabella said.

Race turned to Sophia. "And you, apparently, are also coming. Because Isabella is-"

"The best older sister ever?" Isabella suggested, interrupting, as she seemed prone to do. "I mean, we all have to _leave_ together, but I have this feeling you might want to split up a little after we get out..."

"Izzy, you are _so_ much cooler than Tony is," Sophia declared. Race rolled his eyes, and turned to glare menacingly at Itey again, who held up his hands in surrender.

"I'll be a perfect gentleman," he promised.

"Oh, I know," Isabella answered lightly. "Because I'll kill you if you touch her."

"Uh."

"Well, probably I'll pay someone to do it for me, but really, that's a minor detail."

"IZZY!"

"Is it okay though?" Itey asked Race, looking nervous. "If I me and Sophie head out together and maybe meet up with you guys later?"

Race stared. "You and _SOPHIE?"_

"Yes, him and me." Sophia blushed. "Tony, come on, stop being an asshole."

Race grumbled. The only reason he was agreeing to this was because he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible so he could sit next to Spot and stroke his thigh under the table of an ice cream parlor. "Fine, but she better be home before I am."

Itey and Sophia beamed.

"Stop smiling."

"Thanks, _fratello_." Sophia took Itey's arm. "Come on, Gabe."

"Hey hey, lovebirds, we _do_ have to leave together, 'member?" Isabella pointed out. "So how many people are coming, how many cars do we need?"

"Oh, I _so_ call shotgun in Tony's car," Spot said. "That thing is fucking _hot."_

"Weren't you just making fun of--" Race started, but Spot elbowed him in the ribcage. "Whatever. Okay, so Spot and I can take three more people."

Isabella took over arranging things, because that was what she was good at, and a minute later they were out and on their way; fifteen minutes later they arrived at a local ice cream parlor, the kind that made all of it's own ice cream and was famous locally.

Of course, a block down from the ice cream parlor was a coffee place, which was strategically where Sophia and Itey got 'lost'.

David had had to walk from the coffee shop to the ice cream parlor, muttering something about 'annoying couples' and 'why they always had to be his friends.'

As soon as they were in the shop, Mush's mood brightened and he hurried to the counter, dragging along Blink, who was looking regretfully at his wallet.

"I don't eat ice cream," Spot mumbled, and Race shoved him. "I _don't."_

"Get a smoothie, then," Race snapped. "I'll buy."

Spot grinned. "Good, 'cause I'm broke."

"Ass."

"Hey, you're the spoiled rich kid."

"...Ass," he repeated, but was smiling as they walked up to the counter.

"So, the couples making you crazy?" Jack laughed at David as he entered the parlor, looking half-frozen himself. "Just be glad Sarah's not here."

"I'm _always_ glad Sarah's not here," David answered flatly.

Spot chuckled. "God, you two are fucking... You're like hetero life partners or something." Which set off everyone else, causing them to get strange looks. The laughter somehow managed to be almost continuous as they all finally got through the line and sat down, pushing two tables together to have enough room.

Race, still suspicious that Isabella had her eye on Spot, made sure that he and Spot were sitting in the corner so that no one could sit Spot's other side. Mush was still at the counter, taking care of orders, and Blink was looking more suicidal as the list went on.

"Mush has this _thing_ with ice cream," Jack explained to Isabella, who was giving her brother sharp looks.

On cue, Mush hurried over to the table, everything on a tray. "Pay time!" He announced. "Blink is paying for me. Jack is paying for David and Izzy--"

"No I'm not--"

"Ssh. Yes you are. Race, you said you were paying for Spot?"

Race shrugged, hoping he wasn't blushing.

"Good!" He started handing out ice cream, and finally gave a smoothie over to Spot.

"You could be a fucking waitress," he said as he took the smoothie.

"Waiter."

"No, wait_ress_."

"Oh, right. I forgot. Because I'm somehow more gay than _you_ are?" Mush answered, rolling his eyes, then shot an apprehensive look at Isabella. "Uh..."

"Oh, chill, I'm not my parents," she said, then gallantly added, "I'll cover the check."

Blink looked visibly relieved. "Tony, your sister RULES."

Mush swatted him lightly. Race rolled his eyes, and began to dig into his sundae, and put his other hand gently on Spot's thigh. Spot smirked into his smoothie.

"The concert was pretty kickass," Jack finally admitted from around his ice cream cone.

"Well, of course it was. Mush had a solo." Blink grinned at his boyfriend, who grinned back.

"Sickening," Spot muttered.

"Very sickening."

"Incredibly sickening."

"Oh, like they're worse than _you two?"_ Isabella demanded, before the conversation could continue. Race looked over at her, panicked, but she was rolling her eyes, so he figured it was a coincidence and went back to his sundae. He did move his hand off of Spot's leg, though.

But Spot put a hand on his, so it was okay.

"So, _Izzy_--" Jack started, leaning towards Isabella in his seat slightly. "Tony tells me you're going to school? Where at?"

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Princeton."

"Oh really? What do you study? I bet it's fascinating..."

David then let out a cough which sounded suspiciously like 'SARAH', but Jack ignored him. With Isabella distracted (more annoyed, really,) Race let his hand linger on Spot's thigh again, and he felt Spot brush his foot against his leg.

Race really wished they were alone.

Mush and Blink were lucky. They didn't care _where_ the hell _they_ were. But at least the two of them had the good grace not to make out in an ice cream parlor when they were out with friends.

"Stop calling me Izzy, only people I KNOW can call me that."

"Oh sorry, _Isabella_." Jack wasn't fazed. "So, how old _are_ you?"

Race was sickened. But he wasn't protective of Isabella; she was too scary. And Jack was no match for her, really, he thought with a vague sort of pride.

"Old enough that I'm not interested in _little boys_."

Jack guffawed a little, and Race laughed. "Don't choke on your ice cream, there, Jacky."

"Fuck you."

"You'd _like_ to," he answered without thinking; he'd heard Spot say it enough times that it was just reaction, then he glanced at Isabella again, hoping she wouldn't read anything into it.

She was busily eating her ice cream.

"No, that's Spot," Jack answered.

"Guilty as charged," Spot responded, and under the table, trailed a finger up the inside of Race's thigh. Race squirmed a little in place--it _tickled_--and Spot smirked at him.

"HEY!" Race yelped.

"Yeah, you like it," Spot answered.

"Fuck _you!"_

"Yeah, you'd like to, _Fante,"_ Isabella muttered into her ice cream.

There was a moment of frozen silence, and everyone turned to stare at her. "What?" she demanded of the table, then to Race and Spot, "Would you two just go make out or something? Because the sexual tension is really starting to irritate me."

There was another long silence.

"That seems to happen a lot in our group of friends," David noted.

"Yeah..." Mush trailed off, looking suspiciously at Race and Spot, who were busying themselves with their orders, looking in every direction _but_ the people at the table. "Tony, do you have something you want to _tell_ us?"

Race was eating his sundae at an amazing rate, and really everyone wondered if he was going to choke himself.

"Tony."

Race said nothing.

"Tony."

More nothing. Then Blink reached across the table and smacked Race sharply on the head. "You listen to my boy when he talks to you!"

Spot punched Blink's arm. "Don't hit him!"

Then Blink punched Spot and Spot punched Blink again and things were really getting ridiculous... And Isabella cleared her throat loudly. Well, sort of. It was more like she actually _yelled, _"AHEM."

They stopped abruptly. She was scary, after all.

"Tony?" she asked.

He dug around in the gooey remains of his ice cream, looking for the cherry that had gotten buried under there somewhere. "Uh," he said finally.

"Tony, it's really okay," she said. "I'm not going to tell Dad or anything. Jesus."

He looked up and stared at her. "You _know?"_ he squawked.

"Of course I know. I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid, and you two are _really_ not very subtle."

"Oh." He found the cherry in the goop, and wondered when he'd started his habit of saving it for last. "Well."

"So you mean you two are--?!" Blink demanded, his eye widening. "Oh my _God_, I don't freaking _believe_ it!"

"Well, uh..."

"Since when are _you_ shy?" Mush asked cheerfully, though the cheerfulness sounded a little forced. Blink gave him a concerned look and he smiled and reached for Blink's hand, and Race wondered what the hell _that_ exchange meant.

"I'm not shy. I'm just... That is, we"

"We're fucking together," Spot interrupted. "I mean, we're together, but not yet--yeah. Well, soon, hopefully."

"AHEM," Isabella said again.

"Okay, we're..." Race trailed off. "I uh...well, we're working on it."

"While fucking."

"SPOT."

__

"Don't talk that way about my little brother," Isabella snapped at Spot, who looked a little startled by the harshness in her voice. Race rolled his eyes.

"I'm not _little,_" he mumbled.

"Neither are his intentions." She narrowed her eyes at Spot.

"To be fair," Jack spoke up, "Spot _does_ like him."

All eyes darted to Jack. "Shut up, asshole!" Spot chucked his wet straw at Jack, and kicked him under the table.

"You had better," Isabella continued. "He's a good boy and a _young_ boy and a _huge_ idiot. So if you don't goddamned treat him right, I'll rip your arm off and feed it to you."

Spot was pretty speechless after that.

"Well, I have a fifteen to twenty page paper to write," Isabella announced, back to her previous cheerful self. "I'm heading out. Nice seeing you all; Tony, be home by 11:30. And you--" She pointed at Spot again. Spot paled. "You better fucking get him home on time."

And then Isabella left the building.

There was a beat of silence.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Is your _entire_ family insane?"

"Yeah."

*

F: We'll have you know that really, Race and Spot are officially too beautiful.

B: This is the second chapter named for a Sloan album. Because Sloan albums just rule that much.

F: I've decided they're the bible.

B: And goodness only knows how many chapters have Sloan lyrics. We love Sloan. A lot.

F: In fact, did you hear of those stalkers that kidnapped Sloan, tied them up, and locked them in a basement?

....

that was us.

B: I'm sure you're all shocked. But with Patrick Pentland in my basement, I'm getting even less of my schoolwork done... and significantly less sleep. But you know, I'm not that upset about it.

F: Jay is taking me to the prom.

B: But as for the chapter... I can't believe you're still reading. It was really that long. Twenty-eight pages, which is a record, even for us.

F: We're addicts and we have no discipline and there's really nothing to be done.

B: Speaking of addicts, the real reason I've only had 5 and a half hours of sleep out of the last 48? And that I failed one of the midterms I had today? ...Let's just say it's a good thing I love all y'all, 'cause I'm exhausted and flunking out of school.

F: I'm trying to comfort her. If only I was male with an eye patch.

B: ....mmmm, Blink.

F: There we go. That'll keep.

B: Well, I'm in my happy Blink place now, and also my happy SpRace cake place... And just y'all wait until the next chapter, which kicks off a Very Important Story Arch. (Oh, and remember how Dutchy used to be in the fic? He shows up again too, finally.) So... Stay tuned, or something.

F: By the way, the first fan to give us scads of chocolate, pie and beer get our love.

We'd give you cash, but, see, that would require not being broke...

B: And my workstudy doesn't pay that much. Alas.

F: Really, we still love you.

B: We really do... Unfortunately, we're having to temporarily discontinue shoutouts in an effort to get chapters out on a relatively timely basis, because we like to give them the full time it takes to write something unique and fun and interesting and we just don't have that kind of time right now. So in the interest of not making you wait two more weeks for chapters than you'd otherwise have to, we are, sadly, shoutoutless.

F: You do get this naked poster of Spot however.

B: Enjoy. ;)

(This chapter celebrated with too much Diet Coke, non-diet Coke, and about eight blueberry muffins.)


	9. Look, I'm Breathing

**__**

Everything You've Done Wrong

What would you think if I sang out of tune?

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,

And I'll try not to sing out of key.

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends,

I get high with a little help from my friends

Gonna try with a little help from my friends.

What do you do when my love is away?

(Does it worry you to be alone?)

How do I feel by the end of the day?

(Are you sad because you're on your own?)

No, I get by with a little help with my friends,

I get high with a little help from my friends,

Gonna try with a little help from my friends.

-The Beatles,_ With A Little Help From My Friends_

****

Chapter Nine: Look, I'm Breathing

Of course, they wanted everything to be back to normal. But it was hard to feel as if anything was normal when Dutchy was so pale, and so skinny, and really, looked as if he'd been to hell and back, and beaten repeatedly on both trips.

Blink thought that being recovering from things were supposed to look _good_. So then everyone could say, 'oh, you look fan_tas_tic Marge,' or, 'But you're looking so much _better_, Lou-Anne'.

Blink, being who he knew he was, didn't know what to say, and also knew he was openly staring. Why couldn't he be like Itey? Itey knew what to do. He was acting cautious, but in one of those nice ways that can't offend anybody.

Blink just grumbled and poked at his mic.

Dutchy was staring pointedly at the floor, chin in hands, waiting for everyone else to be ready to go. Race had left for the afternoon; Spot had taken off shortly thereafter (probably to meet up with each other again--they were quite closemouthed about their relationship). David and Mush had left to work on a school assignment together.

Dutchy had spent the day at school hiding in a practice room, skipping his classes, mindlessly playing his guitar. His fingers were blistered, which was saying something because he'd had calluses from the guitar for years now, but he'd been playing for hours. But his teachers wouldn't care. No one cared, really. No one knew how to freaking _talk_ to him.

He sort of wished the principal had stopped in to yell at him for cutting class, but no. He'd just stopped, glanced in the window of the practice room, and shook his head sadly. Dutchy was a screw up druggie, on his first day out of rehab.

He'd expected it at school.

He didn't expect it from his best friends.

Wordlessly, he glanced up as Itey packed away his bass and winced when he unplugged it from the amp--the sound jabbed out into the silent air and made everything more awkward than it already was.

Dutchy hadn't thought that was even possible.

"So..." Dutchy mumbled. They didn't hear him. Or pretended that they didn't. Dutchy rolled his eyes. "SO," he said loudly and pointedly.

Itey and Blink both turned their heads sharply to look at him; Itey recovered quickly however, and smiled easily, but Dutchy knew him so well he could see the pity. And Blink couldn't hide it to save his life.

"Yeah?" Itey said, his voice oddly more high than usual. 

"So...Spot and Tony, huh?"

"Yeah."

"When'd that happen?"

"Uh..." Itey shrugged. "While a...go."

While ago meaning 'while you were in rehab, you freaky, coke-addicted guitar-playing SLOB.'

"Oh."

"Yeah, they're real..." Blink tried, hoping to somehow restore normalcy through speech. But it wasn't working, because when he spoke he looked at Dutchy and was suddenly freaked out again. "They're not cute really, they barely talk to each other when other people are around, but they're good for each other. I mean, they're less... Act less like assholes."

"Tony is NOT an asshole," Dutchy snapped defensively, and looked up, and let his eyes meet Blink again.

"Dutchy," Itey said quietly.

"No, I fucking mean that. He--The guy tried to--" He choked on the words, fell silent. He stood up and grabbed his guitar, jerking the case surprisingly hard given how precious the instrument was to him. "Whatever, I'm out of here."

"I'll walk with you," Itey offered, shouldering his bass.

"Don't bother."

"Dutchy," Itey said again. "Don't treat us like this."

He turned around and glared at Itey, probably the first time someone had ever sounded genuinely mad when talking to Itey. "Don't treat YOU like this?" he half-yelled. "Don't _treat you like this?"_

"I didn't--" Itey was in breathing mode; whenever he seemed close to losing control, he breathed a lot when he spoke. Right now, Dutchy just wanted him to fucking stop breathing and go with what the moment was giving him.

Then again, Blink did that, and Dutchy didn't like that much better.

"Well you've been kind of a dick ever since you got here," Blink said simply, picking at his knuckles (which were red and bloodied from a game of knuckles with Spot earlier in the day).

Itey winced, Dutchy stared. Blink kept picking at his knuckles.

"I'm SORRY," Dutchy snapped. "I forgot how HARD this was for you, _RYAN."_

Itey tried to save the situation. "He didn't mean it that way, Dutchy--"

"I did too!" Blink snapped. "He doesn't have to act like we don't care about or like we're not his friends. And he HAS been."

"Yeah, I have," Dutchy spat back. "Because you won't fucking TREAT me like your friend, you just stare at me and jump whenever I talk, or move or... Or fucking _breathe_. And it's making me CRAZY and I can not take another second of it."

Itey winced; he hated conflict. But Blink didn't.

"Yeah, well, what are we supposed to SAY? 'Hey, what's up, how was rehab?'"

"YES," Dutchy answered emphatically. "And then I say, 'It fucking SUCKED,' and you smack me upside the head for being stupid enough to do that shit in the first place, and then we go fucking BACK TO NORMAL."

"Back to normal would be back you sniffing coke," Itey said, his tone turning a little harsh. "It _can't_ ever be back to that."

"Well then let it be back to fucking ANYTHING besides THIS," Dutchy swore as his guitar slip from his grip, and he grabbed the handle with both hands--he was sweating. "Fuck fuck fuck I can't STAND it but at least make it easier to go through by fucking talking to me!"

Itey went back to breathing. "Dutchy, try and understand," he said. "We're not perfect; we don't _know_ what to say."

Which was true, because there was silence.

Dutchy groaned and sank back on to the couch, and finally Blink said quietly--which was a shock in and of itself, because he never did anything quietly--"So, what's up? How was rehab?"

Dutchy managed to give him a wry, not at all sincere smile. "Fucking _sucked_."

Blink leaned over and smacked him upside the head. "You do that shit again and we'll kill you. You got that, idiot?"

"Got it." Dutchy looked a little relieved.

Itey smiled to himself. Dutchy was usually mellow--though he realized there was a decent chance that had been from the drugs--and screaming Dutchy was frightening. "So why'd it suck?" he asked.

Dutchy looked up at him, no longer angry, just... Fragile. "Because they wouldn't let me have any drugs."

No one was sure if he was kidding or not.

*

Race did not want to take one more step. If he did, that meant he'd have to turn the corner. And if he turned the corner, that meant he'd have to see Dutchy go to court. Seeing Dutchy at court was suddenly scarier than... well, than Race realizing how bad he fucked up the other night. After all, when he turned the corner, he'd be staring right at where he'd been two years ago.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to see that.

"Come on, Tony." David gave his back a friendly push. "We can't be late, remember?...You doing okay?"

Race looked at David pointedly, and then shook his head. "I'm doing shitty."

"So is he."

"Yeah, I _know_..."

"It'll be fine." David gave his back a pat again. "Come on, you can do this. You've been through worse."

That analogy was probably really unhealthy, but Race didn't dwell on it. So he took one more step, and finally turned sharply to his left, feeling as if he was going to explode. Instead, he saw Dutchy a few paces away, standing by the court doors, looking nervous, twitchy, and absolutely horrible.

Race shuddered nervously, and David shoved him again. When Race started towards Dutchy, David and the others didn't follow, and Race was grateful. 

It was like watching a movie; this kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen. When it had happened to Race, for some reason it hadn't _feel_ strange, or impossible. But when he actually _saw_ it, when he could watch... Then, nothing fit.

"Hey," Race croaked out, giving Dutchy's shoulder a punch. Dutchy jumped; he hadn't seen Race. "You look like shit."

Dutchy snorted. "You'd know?"

"I'd know."

"Can't picture you looking like shit."

Race grinned. "Why, thank you."

Dutchy swallowed hard. "Does it... Does it get better? Easier?"

"You get your appetite back," Race said, and no one else dared butt in because... Because they had no idea what to do or say. Race had been right, the morning after; he _was_ the only one who knew what Dutchy was going through.

"I think I'm gonna hurl."

"You'll be fine," Race promised, trying to sound _less_ confident than he felt. He knew for solid _fact_ that Dutchy would be fine, but he couldn't exactly explain that to anyone else.

Dutchy finally mumbled towards the floor, "I fucking wish I was high right now."

"Yeah, I know." Race hesitantly put his hand on Dutchy's shoulder. "Look; just smile at the judge and the lawyers and everyone. When they ask what happened, tell them you did it once at a party, didn't know what you were doing, and the next thing you knew you couldn't help yourself, couldn't stop, that you regret it and you just hope they'll be kind enough to give you a chance to start again..."

Dutchy gave him an odd look. "Yeah?"

"Worked for me." He shrugged. "You're a first time offender and you're _still_ a minor. Just... Tell them know how sorry you really are."

"Yeah," Dutchy said. "Yeah, do I look okay?"

"No, you look like a recovering cocaine addict."

__

"Thanks."

Race and Dutchy stared at each other for a moment, neither saying anything, no one else breaking the moment.

Dutchy, for the first time since he'd OD'd, truly felt that maybe he might not need it. One day. He cleared his throat, and ruffled Race's hair. "Thanks, _Midgito."_

"Hey," Spot snapped, walking over to join them, sensing that the moment they needed was over. "Only _I_ call him that. Get your own insult."

Dutchy made a face at Spot. "Fine, thanks, Fellow Crack Addict."

"You're welcome, Fellow Fuck Up."

"That's way _worse_..." Itey whined, and Mush patted his back sympathetically.

"So, time to face the music," Dutchy muttered, took a deep breath, and lead the way in.

"Dude, is his mom even _here?"_ Blink asked, as they walked inside, Dutchy to where he needed to be for the hearing to get started, everyone else to take seats in the audience.

"No," Itey said. "She couldn't make it."

"Why the fuck _not?"_ Race demanded.

"She's in Nevada somewhere." Itey shrugged. "She's a trucker; she's usually gone for a week or two at a time. Couldn't get back in time, I guess."

"God, she's making him go through this alone?" Race muttered. "That's... Fucked up."

"It took the police two days to track her down when... You know."

"Jesus."

"Yeah." Itey cleared his throat a little. "I'm thinking I should maybe see if he'll come crash at my house or something. 'Cause... Uh..."

"It's a stupid idea to let a recovering addict live by himself?" Race suggested. "You can say things like that, Itey. We'd _both_ rather hear you say it than do that nervous cough thing one more goddamn time."

Spot and Jack were looking suspiciously around the room, and David elbowed them both--at the same time--sharply in the ribs. It was impressive how much a middle-aged mother David really was.

"Would you two stop that? You look like criminals," he hissed. Jack shoved him back and Spot snorted.

"Come _on_, they think we're criminals anyway," Spot mumbled. "Hey, that cop is pretty hot..."

Race glanced over his friends. 'Criminals,' was an exaggeration, but they didn't seem like the sort who frequented courts often. Much like the disastrous dinner at his house that seemed years ago now, though it was only a few weeks, they were dressed nicely. Nicer, actually; somehow, it would have just seemed wrong to wear t-shirts to a trial, or a hearing, or whatever it was. The only one who was truly clear on the details was Race himself, who was also the only one who was wearing a suit.

Well, aside from Dutchy. But that was a given.

This was like a bad flashback. Even though those were brought on by the wrong kind of drug.

He looked up and saw that things were about to get started, mumbled a short prayer under his breath, crossed himself (he wasn't really religious, but until things were done, was willing to ask for whatever help he could get) and tried to calm down. He'd assured Dutchy would get off easy. Soon, it would all be over, and things would be back to normal.

Soon...

*

"Holyfuckingshitchrist!!"

"...Dutchy, it's...it's just _ice cream_," Itey mumbled, but Dutchy paid no heed as he shoveled the dessert into his mouth. Itey turned to Race. "Is the appetite _supposed_ to come back this quickly?"

Race shook his head. "He's eating it because the sugar is feeding his craving a little...I ate like, buckets of Skittles. And a lot of Oreos."

"You still eat lots of Oreos." Mush pointed at Race's sundae, which was, of course, full of Oreo chunks. Race grinned, pointing his spoon at Mush.

"Because Oreos _rock_. Oh, here-" Race handed another sundae to Dutchy, who didn't seem to be tasting anything he was eating.

He knew what it was. The stress of the court room had probably given Dutchy a huge need for a line. Jack was a genius to suggest the ice cream parlor. Dutchy just needed to find something to distract him as much as possible, all the time.

Still, when Dutchy reached for Race's own sundae, Race pulled it away and Blink smacked Dutchy's hand as Dutchy went for his banana split.

"I can not fucking BELIEVE," Dutchy said between bites, "fucking COMMUNITY SERVICE. They gave me fucking community fucking service!"

"Don't choke," Itey told him, as Dutchy had forgotten it was hard to swallow and speak at the same time. He coughed, grabbed his water and drained half of it, then went right back to his ice cream.

"I mean, they didn't--I fucking thought I'd be in JAIL--or fined up the ass--_fuck_, this is good stuff."

"You know, I'm gonna time how fast he goes through the next one," Mush noted, as Dutchy was already nearly done with the ice cream part of his sundae and was working on the banana at the bottom.

Race just smiled to himself, and went back to his own sundae. This was the same ice cream parlor they'd been at the night of the concert; it was the very same table. He reached for Spot's hand under the table, and Spot smirked took a gulp of his smoothie. They'd been together for a week, and hadn't been caught. Race was starting to think things might actually go his way for a change.

"I mean--" Dutchy snatched Jack's sundae swiftly, and already started devouring it before Jack could get it back. "How the fuck did they let me off so fucking EASY?" He stuffed more ice cream in his mouth and then made an odd face and started hacking.

"For god's SAKE, breath!" Itey snapped, slapping Dutchy's back.

"Cold!" Dutchy said, his mouth still full of ice cream.

Under the table, Spot was trailing little circles on the palm of Race's hand, and Race could feel a flush creep up his cheeks. He didn't dare look at Spot; if he did, he'd probably end up kissing him.

He noticed that Mush was watching him with a look of fascinated observation; kind of like the crocodile hunter. Race grinned at him, and then turned to Dutchy.

"Dude, fucking slow down and then start ag--" Dutchy ignored him and went right back to the ice cream, at the same speed, once he finished coughing. Race shrugged. "Or...you know, be Godzilla."

I remember Tony choking on Skittles," Mush finally said.

"Only once or twice."

"Once or twice an _hour_, maybe. I swear, we thought you were gonna die or something," David said. "Which would have been a real shame, given you'd just gotten out of the hospital and rehab and all."

"So the moral of the story," Mush said, "is don't choke, Dutchy."

Dutchy glanced up from Jack's ice cream, started to say something, then changed his mind and went back to eating.

"You're gonna be sick later," Jack said. "And you owe me a sundae."

"Will not, and whatever."

"So, uh," Itey interrupted. "Dutchy, I was thinking..."

"What?" Dutchy asked, actually pausing long enough to throw Itey a curious look.

"Just, maybe... Would you like to crash at my place for awhile?"

Dutchy went back to the ice cream.

"Dutchy?"

"I'm okay on my own."

"No, you're not." It was the most forceful Itey ever got.

"I really--"

"You're having a craving," Race interrupted. "I fucking _know_. And if there's no one there to stop you, and it's the middle of the night and you can't sleep, and you're afraid of the way people will look at you in school the next day... Trust me, you want as many fucking people between you and the nearest dealer as possible."

Dutchy didn't answer; he just kept eating his sundae. Itey cleared his throat. Nothing. "Dutchy?...Dutchy, you're--"

"Okay, okay!"

"Dutchy, it's--"

"I'm eating, whore!" Dutchy snapped, and grabbed Itey's smoothie, taking off the cap and downing it in one gulp.

Spot snorted, and Race kicked him under the table. Spot paid no heed, and kept snickering. A thing about Spot; if he shouldn't laugh, he would if he found it funny, and he never tried to hide he was laughing, no matter how much he should.

Dutchy was quick though, so he took Spot's smoothie too.

"Hey, bitch!" Spot snapped.

Dutchy flipped him off with his left hand as he guzzled the drink, holding it in his right. Nonverbal communication was better than choking, he decided, and it was Race's turn to not pretend to hide his laughter.

"So, Dutchy...?" Itey asked.

"I don't want to be a bother." Dutchy glanced around the table; the only thing he hadn't decimated was Race's Oreo sundae, and Race sighed and slid it over to him.

"It's no bother."

"To have someone camped on your floor for a week at a time? It would be a bother. And probably bad for my back."

"We have a guest room."

"Oh."

"So really, you can't argue."

"Wouldn't want to eat you out of house and home."

"My mom likes cooking _almost_ as much as Tony's does; no problem there either."

"...Uh."

"Just say yes."

"Fine."

__

"Thank you."

"Well." David smacked his hand on the table. "Then everything's taken care of!"

"No it's fucking not, he stole my fucking smooothie," Spot growled. Race shoved him. "Ow!"

"Baby." Race grinned.

"Look who's talking, _Midgito."_

"Skinny."

"Whore."

"Asshole."

"Pussy."

"Fuck you--"

"He _so_ already did," Jack said, looking through his wallet so he could buy himself another sundae.

"No, he didn't," David said. "I think his sister scared Spot too much."

"Shut up!" Spot yelled.

"Feeling sex starved?" Blink asked sympathetically, then put an arm around Mush. "I know what that's like... Wait. No, I don't, at all."

Mush blushed and looked away, but was grinning. Spot scowled. "Fuck you both."

"I don't think Tony would be happy with you if you did that," Mush said mildly.

"Unless he wants to watch or something sick like that."

"Okay, ew," David said. "I really don't care to hear anything else about your sex lives, thanks."

"Yeah; we were discussing Spot's," Blink reminded him. "Or rather, his tragic lack there of. 'Cause he's afraid of Tony's sister."

"Shut the fuck up, I am NOT!"

__

"I am," Race spoke up. "She's almost as scary as my dad is when she's pissed."

"Oh, is _that_ why you won't put out?" Blink laughed.

"Seriously, I am gonna beat the snot out of you."

"He gets violent when he's not being laid on a regular basis, Tony, I should warn you," Jack said.

Spot started to actually lunge towards Jack, ready to inflict bodily harm, but Race was still holding his hand and yanked him back into his seat. "I'm gonna go get another sundae," he declared. "Since SOMEONE ate mine."

Dutchy waved his hand as he finished up his smoothie, and Spot, looking oddly shy, stood up and followed Race to the counter.

"Oooh! He leaves with his boy!"

"Look at them together!"

"Spotty's in wuuuuvv..."

Spot found an obscene hand gesture for every single boy at the table. "I fucking hate you all!" He turned to Race, who grinned.

"You wuuuuv me."

"Fuck you too!"

Race rolled his eyes. "I already said not yet, Spot. I'm not... You know, haven't quite got my head around this whole thing yet."

"What whole thing? You're gay, you want to sleep with boys. Specifically, me."

"It's not as easy as that, okay?" Race muttered darkly. "And I wouldn't really want to be having sex if I had a girlfriend, either."

"...Because you're gay."

"I _meant_ if I was _straight_. I'm just..."

"A pussy?"

"Shut up."

Spot shrugged, and ordered another smoothie, which Race paid without even asking if Spot wanted him to. Spot sort of felt guilty, like he was taking advantage of Race, but that wasn't how he _meant_ it. Race handed him the smoothie, caught his eye, and smiled. He wasn't angry, just exasperated.

"I'll let you know when I'm ready," he said softly as they walked back to the table.

"I know."

He sat down and paused, glancing at his sundae, then scooped up the cherry he always saved for last and deposited it on top of Spot's smoothie. "How's that for imagery?" he murmured in Spot's ear.

Spot smirked.

"I have to go..." Itey said, looking at his watch. "I have to pick up Sophie by..." Race shot a glare. Itey rolled his eyes. "_Sophia_ by 6:30. Come on, Dutch."

"I want another ice cream!" Dutchy protested, and Itey smacked him.

"Can we get a ride?" Mush asked as Blink started trailing kisses down his neck. Itey made a face.

"But...just don't do that in the back seat, please..."

Mush made no promises as they gathered their things. Mush ruffled Race's hair, giving him a wink. Race grinned and Spot tightened his grip around Race's hand under the table. Race kicked him again.

"Look." Jack was distracted, pointing in the paper he was reading. "Dude, look Tony, Davey, your band concert made the paper."

"What?" Race asked, arching an eyebrow, then reaching across the table to snatch the paper from Jack. He skimmed the text, about the achievements of the conductor and the senior members and blah blah blah, and his eyes stopped on the picture.

It was him, fixing his drumset, at the very beginning.

"Damn, I'm hot."

"Give me thaaaaat!" Spot yelled.

Spot seemed to be a lot more open when it was just Jack and David who were with them, and he stared hungrily at the picture, before ripping it out.

"Hey, other people want to read that!" David scolded, and Spot stuck his tongue out, Gene Simmons style as he stuffed the picture in his pocket.

Race stared. "You could have _asked_ for a picture."

"I want this one," Spot answered, leaning back in his seat and patting his pocket. "You look like shit in all your family pictures anyway."

"I do not, shithead!"

"Well, maybe not. But you look freaking _serious_ in all of them, it's not _you_. But _this_ is you."

"Awwww, who knew Spot could be sweet?" Jack mocked, and Spot punched his shoulder.

"I bet Tony knew. Gotta wonder what their pillow talk sounds like," David mused. "'Oh, Tony, fuck me, in Italian--'"

"FUCK YOU."

The fact that they both yelled it probably revealed a lot more than they wanted anyone to know about their relationship, and how close David's mockery had been to the truth. David laughed.

"C'mon, Dave; let's leave the love birds alone," Jack said. "Want a ride home?"

"Yeah, sure. Have fun, you two," David said, and Race threw a dirty napkin at him. He laughed and followed Jack out of the parlor.

"I can't stay much longer," Race said finally. "I gotta get home so I can get to Sophia's thing tonight."

"What, her date? You're not _chaperoning_ her, are you?"

"No, but--"

"Because I don't see what your fucking _problem_ is with her dating Itey," Spot continued. "I mean, you like him and know he's nice and know he, like, _loves_ her. You know he'll do anything for her. So what are you afraid of?"

"Becoming an uncle."

"Itey wouldn't do that to her, Tony," Spot said, rolling his eyes. "And she wouldn't _let_ him. I mean, she could take him in a fight."

"Yeah, probably."

"And if she's anything like you, they won't be sleeping together for a long time."

"SPOT, I already said--"

"You're confused, I know. I didn't mean it like that." He paused, and gave Race a serious look. "I really didn't. I don't want to, like, pressure you or anything..."

"Gee, sweet of you."

"But my POINT was you KNOW you've got nothing to worry about, and Itey is a lot better than a LOT of guys she could date." He shot Race a cocky grin. "Like, she could have a thing for _me_, the local badass."

Race rolled his eyes. "I know Sophia can handle herself. But--"

"Jesus, I can't wait to see what happens when MARIA starts dating."

"SHUT UP."

Spot laughed at him, and Race scowled.

"And I'm not chaperoning them tonight, she's got a flute recital, which I'm going to."

"Is Itey?"

"Of_ course._ That's what he's picking her up; she needs to be there an hour before it starts."

Spot nodded, and trailed his finger in little circles on the surface of the table. Race continued, digging into his new Oreo Sundae. "Anyway, I can't be late. I missed her last one because I forgot, and she was so pissed she put pepper and paprika in my dessert the next night."

Spot smirked slightly and continued trailing his finger on the table.

"And so I have to be in the front row."

"She any good?" Spot asked. Race grinned as he looked down at Spot's hand, watching the invisible patterns he made.

"Yeah. She's real good. It's all she does, I fucking swear. That's actually the reason she doesn't date too much."

Spot snorted. "Yeah, _Midgito_, that's the reason all right."

Race shrugged. "I didn't say it was _all_ of the reason." He slapped his hand on top of Spot's. "Cut it out, will ya?"

Spot tore his hand away to adjust the straw in his smoothie before taking a small sip. "So that's what you're doing tonight then?"

"Yeah." Race started jabbing at his sundae, smooshing up the oreos into little crumbs, and then swirling all of the ice cream together--it was starting to really look disgusting.

"That's gross." Spot wrinkled his nose.

"I'm a guy, doing gross things with my food is what I _do_."

Spot continued playing with the straw in his smoothie, and didn't respond. For awhile. "So, what time is this at?"

"Is what at?"

"Sophia's flute thing."

"Oh." Race stuffed some ice cream in his mouth. "Eight."

"...well, I'm not..." Spot mumbled a bit and sat up straight. "I'm not doing anything tonight, so I guess I'll come along."

Race stopped eating his sundae, or rather, stopped chewing his sundae, so the spoon was still in his mouth. He stared at Spot. "What?" he asked, but it came out muffled and ice cream started to dribble down his chin.

"God, you fucking special needs idiot," Spot snorted, and shoved a napkin at Race's face. Race grabbed it from him and swiped the ice cream off of his chin.

"What did you say?" Race repeated, taking the spoon out of his mouth and swallowing his ice cream before taking another spoonful. 

Spot rolled his eyes. "You heard me, _Midgito_."

"I did, but I'd like to hear it again." Race popped some more sundae in his mouth. He was nodding his head, looking too sure of himself for his own good, Spot decided.

"I might come."

"You might come."

"Yes."

"Wow." Race fluttered his eye lashes. "You're the best boyfriend _ever!"_

"Fuck yeah, I am." Spot leaned forward in his seat. "So I deserve a fucking tongue in my mouth, don't you agree?"

Race reddened, which Spot found too tantalizing for words. "_Spot_, I _told_ you, not in freaking public."

Spot let out an annoyed snort as he craned his neck to give the place a once over. "There's barely anyone in here anyway. Don't be such a pussy."

"I'm not a pussy, I'm just careful," Race shot back, going back to stabbing at the sundae. "Besides, I already told you I'm new at this."

"Yeah, you sure were new at it when you kissed me the other night."

Race's eyes darted up at Spot. "That's different."

"It's funny 'cause it's _not."_

"We weren't in front of anyone."

"How do you know?" Spot took a sip of his smoothie. "Maybe Tracy was outside in a tree on her weekly stalking duty."

Race burst out laughing, and Spot grinned as he bit his straw.

"But Spo-_ot_," Race whined annoyingly, "_you're_ the one who hates PDAs."

"So?"

"So how is shoving my tongue down your throat _not_ a PDA?"

"I'm just getting it out of the way," Spot answered. "I mean, if I go--_if_--I'll be sitting there all night watching you and I'm sure you'll find some way to make me insane, but with your parents there we won't even be able to sneak off, and well... You wouldn't want to leave me _that_ frustrated."

"Maybe I would." Race smirked and ran a finger down Spot's side, no longer worried that he could feel all the ribs. He stopped at Spot's pants, ran his finger along the sliver of flesh between his shirt and belt, and hooked a finger through the nearest belt loop. "Maybe that's exactly what I want to do." He leaned in as he said it, and Spot could feel the ice cream chill in his breath.

"Cocktease," Spot mumbled, put a hand on Race's shoulder, leaned the rest of the way in, and closed the space between them.

Race made a noise of protest against his mouth, but a few seconds later, was kissing Spot back, trailing his hand down to Spot's crotch.

Spot moaned slightly and deepened the kiss, leaning inward and hooking his arm around Race's neck, shifting his legs open slightly, and let his own hand match Race's...with more of a Spot twist.

Race shuddered, and groaned, and then Spot pulled away.

Completely.

He even pulled his legs together.

And he was smirking cockily at Race with his arms crossed. Race stared at him, slightly open mouthed, and looking a tad dazed.

"I hate you," Race eventually panted.

"So you can dish it out, but not take it?" Spot answered, and reached for his smoothie again.

"We seriously... We can't do that in public..."

"You don't sound like you mind."

"Fuck you."

Spot raised an eyebrow, and smirked, and licked his lips. He didn't say anything, but then, he didn't have to.

"I _really_ hate you," Race answered.

"You're the one who said it."

"Shut _up_."

"What happened to, 'you're the best boyfriend _ever_'?"

"That was before you were being a dick."

"Kissing you is being a dick?" Spot raised his eyebrows. "Guess I'm gonna have to stop doing it. Maybe find my kissage elsewhere."

Race punched his arm.

Hard.

Spot bit back the ache in his shoulder. "That hurt, bitch."

"Good." Race glared as he finished up his sundae. "And you _suck."_

"Your dick."

"Cut it _out_!"

"Anyway." Spot shoved his half finished smoothie towards Race, who started finishing it without a word. "I'll show up, I guess, but it better not be like, shit face music like your band concert."

"That wasn't shit faced music!" Race exclaimed, mouth full of smoothie.

"God, swallow, dumbass, swallow."

"And you didn't even listen to most of it. You were busy trying to get with me in the parking lot."

"Well, then, the parts you were in and I had to watch sucked."

"That's not what you said at the time."

"It's called lying to get in someone's pants, Tony." Spot smirked.

"See, where as right _now_ you're lying with no _chance_ of getting in my pants, so really, you're just being stupid."

"At least I didn't choke on a freaking _smoothie_."

Race paused, pulled out the straw and saw that the fruit seeds were clinging to it, and used it to fling the seeds at Spot.

Spot with strawberry goop on his cheek was adorable.

Race wanted to lick it off. But they were in public. And Spot was being a jerk, sort of. So instead he just grinned as Spot glared at him, and then held up a napkin.

Spot yanked the napkin away from Race and stuck his tongue, making obscene gestures at him.

Race rolled his eyes. "Spot, I-"

"Seriously though." Spot flicked the napkin away after wiping his face. "Let's just go in the bathroom and make out. I need a fucking hand job."

Race stared incredulously at Spot. Who grinned. Guiltlessly.

Then Race considered the options.

He grabbed Spot's crotch. Spot winced, and said "CHRIST!" so loud that the other people in the place (an old couple and the teenager at the counter) glanced over.

Then Race withdrew his hand, checked his watch, and stood up. "I have to run."

"I really, really hope you get in a car crash."

"No you don't," Race smirked as he started for the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "You like my car too much."

"Speaking of." Spot stood. "Can I get a ride home?"

"Will you behave?"

"What am I, your dog?"

"My bitch." Race started walking again.

"I fucking _hate_ you." Spot followed him, and Race laughed as he hit the button to unlock the car.

Spot got in the passenger with an expression on his face like a little boy who'd just gotten a Monster Truck for his birthday. Spot _really_ liked Race's car.

As they pulled out, Race slipped in a CD, a mix of his favorite Sloan tunes. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and turned at the second light.

"Where're you..." Spot glanced over his shoulder. "Dude, I'm in the fucking other direction."

"Yeah..." Race said distractedly, and then pulled them into an alley down by the dead end of the one way sign.

Next thing Spot knew, Race was one top of him.

*

If the bus with Spot was late, then Spot would be late, and Race would be late for waiting for him. Race glared at the bus stop in annoyance, as though that would make the bus come faster, and was once again reminded of why he was so glad he had a car.

That and he had really, really enjoyed spending time in the back seat an hour earlier.

But he'd needed to drop Spot off so Spot could change, and also, his dad wouldn't be thrilled if Spot had just shown up at their house... So they'd decided he'd catch the bus up, and Race would meet him after his parents left. But that required the bus to be on time.

Which it wasn't.

He idly flipped stations on the radio and waited for the bus to appear.

His thoughts were all over the place; all over places where Spot's face were. He was feeling kind of...out of it. Dazed, even, and he couldn't get Spot out of his head.

The fact that he was coming to Sophia's flute recital with him actually meant a lot... It really did, and it proved that there was a lot more to him and Spot than Race initially thought there was.

He was starting to like Spot more and more as time progressed. And it had only been a week.

He looked over and saw a bus coming from the distance; whether it was Spot's or not he couldn't tell, it was too far off to read the route number.

As the bus got closer he recognized the 77, the often late bus that ferried people back and forth from his stop to the one in front of David's house, and waited for Spot to get off, then honked. Spot looked over at him, and grinned; he walked to the car and vaulted over the door without opening it. Convertibles, he thought for the thousandth time, were _awesome_.

He looked over at Race, and smiled to himself. Race looked good. Not _tuxedo_ good, and Race looked good in casual clothes all the time anyway, but slightly dressy--button down shirt, tie, slacks that had clearly actually been ironed--well, he cleaned up nicely. His boyfriend being hot, he decided, was even better than his boyfriend's hot car.

"Have a nice shower?" Race asked, noting Spot's still damp hair.

Spot ran a hand through it and smirked. "Yeah. Jerked off in it."

"Thinking of me?"

"I could say the same to you." Spot shook his hair, like a dog, and adjusted his shirt, which was also slightly larger than his other ones; he seemed to be trying to hide his skinniness for the night.

"You look good," Race noted, nodding his head.

"I _always_ do."

"Especially when I'm jerking you off." Race started the car. "My my, did I say that out _loud_?" He craned his neck as he pulled out of his parking spot.

The performance was actually in a theater hall downtown, as Sophia had long since surpassed her school's band and was taking solo lessons and doing solo performances. The building was full of modern art and roped off pianos asking people to not play them (signs which were largely ignored, given how many people were attempting to bang out Heart and Soul). Race lead the way to the actual performance hall, and they sat near the front, though on the opposite side of the room from his parents. Spot slumped down in the chair, hoping to avoid their gaze, and Race noted Itey sitting next to Maria.

Itey looked oddly nervous. But he had a bouquet of flowers on his lap, doubtlessly for Sophia after the performance, and Race smiled. So maybe Spot had had a point earlier when he said Race should lighten up on Itey. Itey _was_ sweet, and _did_ care about Sophia, a lot.

He sighed, and waited for the lights to dim. Of course, sitting next to Spot in a darkened room... But his parents were across said dark room, so he kept his thoughts to himself. But that didn't stop him from holding Spot's hand, since there was no way to see _that_ across the room in the dark.

Spot clenched his hand, slouching heavily in his seat, and blowing damp strands of hair out of his eyes. Race sighed. Why did his boyfriend have to be so sexy?

Since when was he so used to Spot being his boyfriend, anyway?

Why was he having such a hard time processing thoughts?

The stage dimmed, and the house lights shut off as different portions of the Orchestra Seats lit up, and the symphony filed out from the wings.

Sophia glowed, as usual, and looked positively stunning. And Race could distract his thoughts of Spot for a moment to remember how proud of her he was. All the time.

Spot seemed to get bored halfway through the recital and started trying to distract Race, which was amusing briefly, but Race really didn't want to miss his sister's concert. He also didn't want her to look down at the audience and see him and Spot screwing around, because he somehow doubted she'd react like Isabella and laugh and not tell anyone.

That was a scary thought. He loved Sophia, but couldn't tell her. He didn't like that at _all._

Keeping things from his sisters was so much harder than keeping things from his parents... Which he found himself dwelling on as the concert wrapped up, but then pushed it out of his mind as he headed into the lobby to congratulate her. But he found himself hanging back, watching as Itey shyly handed her the flowers. He watched her face light up, and his when she accepted them, and smiled. "_Fine_," he muttered to Spot. "They can date."

"I don't think you can stop them at this point."

Race kicked him, and then strutted over to Sophia and Itey, who were staring at each other like they were about to kiss; but Race figured he'd be a good brother and make sure she didn't do that when his parents were in eyeshot.

__

"Rosetta," Race said, giving her forehead a kiss. "You were wonderful." He grinned at her as Spot came up behind him. "It's just astounding that you're actually good at something."

"Thank you, _fratello_," she replied. "One of has to have _some_ talent."

"Better than being ugly."

"Which you so are."

"Which is why we look so alike."

"You two are _stupid_," Spot piped up from behind him. Race made a face at him, and then turned to Itey, who was very red.

"Hey, Tony," he said sheepishly. Race stared at him and glanced at his sister, and then made the hardest choice he'd ever had to make that didn't in some way involve cocaine.

"Hey, Itey." He slapped Itey's shoulder. "Uh...well, you can give _Rosetta_ a ride home, right?"

Itey's eyes actually went wide. "Uh, I can?"

"Well, you have a car, right?" He shrugged. "Just don't try and feel her up or anything, okay?"

He wasn't sure whose reaction was better, Itey's or Sophia's. But he just smiled at the two of them. "Okay," Itey said finally.

Sophia paused, then said in Italian, "The idiot comes to his senses."

"_Si, Rosetta_." He rolled his eyes. "I've got to get Spot home so I can do my homework. But you were _very_ good."

"Thank you." And this time she was sincere. He kissed her forehead again, waved to his parents across the room, and headed back towards the parking lot.

"She _is_ good," Spot noted as they headed for his car. "Do your parents know you'll be late?"

"I told them I was giving a friend a ride."

"They didn't care?"

"They, uh" He wasn't quite sure how to brush off the deal he had with his father, which left him a bit more freedom. "They've decided to forgive me, I think. If I don't screw up again..."

"Don't screw up, then."

Race didn't say anything and Spot shoved him. "Don't-screw-up-then."

"I _won't_."

"Good." Spot glanced over his shoulder, and then linked hands with Race. Race jumped slightly, and Spot smirked. "Come on, we're at a theatre. Everyone here is gay."

Race shoved Spot forward. "Just get in the car."

"Yeah, order me around."

"You just _wish."_

Race's mind was elsewhere as he saw Itey and Sophia leaving the theatre, also hand in hand, Sophia smiling and laughing and looking amazing and Itey looking enthralled and...and ecstatic. Now he knew how parents felt when they realized their kids were growing up for the first time.

"Hey, come on." Spot poked a finger at Race's stomach. "She's still your little sister, ass."

Race rolled his eyes and they got into the car, and spent most of the ride quietly enjoying each other's presence, occasionally speaking up to make fun of each other, but mostly just relaxing. "So, you had some more writing for me?"

"Up in my room." Spot paused. "You wanna come up?"

"Nah, I shouldn't... It's late, I've got my homework to do still, and... you know, every time I'm alone in a room with you, I seem to get distracted."

"Yeah, I know." Spot smirked as Race pulled in in front of Jack's house. "C'mon; just for a few minutes."

"Uh..." Race shrugged. "Well, okay. But I can't--I really can't stay. I don't want to screw up and all."

"Fine." Spot got out, and Race followed suit, locked the car behind him, and followed Spot up to the house.

Jack was watching TV in the living room. "Hey, Spot, where you--" he paused and saw Race. "Oh, it's you."

"Hey." Race got the distinct impression Jack was still not his number one fan. Probably because every time he'd seen Jack in the past week, Jack had been outright hostile.

"Jack," Spot mumbled, giving Jack the closest he ever got to a pleading look.

Jack narrowed his eyes at Race, shrugged, and went back to the television set. Race didn't know quite how to take that, but then Spot started down the hall so Race followed, giving Jack a wave. Jack pretended not to notice.

Their place was small, which Race expected, and so far didn't seem to have anyone else living in it... Race assumed the woman of the house was sleeping or something.

"My room isn't La Ritz, like yours," Spot said as they came up to a closed door with a large poster of a shirtless Jim Morrison on the front. "So--"

"I know." Race leaned forward, pressing his hand onto Spot's waist. "Come on, open up."

Spot smirked, turned the handle and opened the door.

Spot's room was very small, and absolutely _covered_ in posters, a few of which were of Che Guvarez, with more various movie posters and bands, and even a Dali Print.

"You like art?" Race asked, making a confused face.

"Nah...just those freaking long legged elephants. And the melting clocks." Spot was digging around in a drawer on the bedside table. "Shit, where did I put that..."

Race sat on the bed, as there were no chairs, and Spot dug through his desk for another minute, then found a notebook and dropped it onto Race's lap. "There's some stuff in there somewhere."

"Okaaay." Race picked it up and opened it, but Spot slammed it shut again. "What?"

"You can't read it while I'm right _here_. That would just be... Weird."

"Why?"

Spot ignored the question and continued, "Besides, if you've got to go soon, there are a lot more fun ways to spend the time. And we're not in public this time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Race set the notebook on the floor, and no sooner than he'd straightened up again was Spot reaching for him, grabbing his belt, pulling them together.

"Are you _always_ so horny?" Race laughed between kisses.

"Yes. And now I've got someone to share it with."

"Your hands were getting tired?"

"Shut up." And Race did as Spot asked, less because Spot had asked and more because he found himself too busy kissing Spot to have any other reaction.

He lost track of time, until someone pounded on the door. "SPOT!" Jack snapped from the outside. "Do you MIND, I'm going to bed and I don't want to hear THAT."

Spot rolled his eyes and muttered something about assholes and anal sleeping patterns under his breath. "Yeah, yeah," he said to the door, and turned back to Race, kissed him again.

"I have to go."

"I know."

Race kissed Spot's mouth firmly, and pulled away a moment to pick up the notebook, and turned towards the door. He kissed Spot quickly again before opening it. When he finally did manage to stop kissing Spot, he _did_ open the door, and Jack sure was waiting on the other side of it, a frown on his face and his arms folded across his chest.

"Hey, Jacky." Race grinned goofily, and gave Jack's shoulder a pat before walking past him.

Spot brushed by Jack and followed Race without so much of a word to his brother. Jack continued glowering.

There was more kissing at the front door, and more at the car when Race got in, and Spot watched him drive off with a grin on his face that was probably happy enough to ruin his entire reputation as a jerk who never liked anyone. It was impossible to look bitter when he was in such a good mood.

His good mood disappeared when he saw Jack still waiting by his room upstairs. "Thought you were going to bed," he said as though it was nothing.

"I am. _After_ we talk."

"There's nothing to talk _about_." Spot crossed his arms and leant against the wall, glaring over at Jack. Sure, Jack was taller and definitely weighed more, but Spot had the dangerous glare thing down _pat_.

They didn't say anything for a moment until Jack finally broke down, tearing his eyes away. Spot always won their glaring showdowns.

"He's just fucking with your head," Jack said, pushing at Spot's door with his foot. "You know that. So why don't you just stop fucking around and see with your eyes for once?"

Well.

Jack had gotten right to the point.

Spot stared, not quite believing what he heard. "_What_?"

"You heard me," Jack answered. "Fucking take my word on something for once, this won't end pretty."

"What--what fucking makes you think this isn't serious?" Spot snapped. "We're more serious than you and _Sarah_ are."

"Yeah, but at least Sarah doesn't _use_ me."

"So what the fuck is he using me _for_ then, Jack?" Spot demanded.

"He fucking wants to piss off his dad," Jack answered flatly.

"He does _not--"_

"He's fucking _straight!"_ Jack half-yelled. "God. Mush used to _throw_ himself at Tony, and he never noticed or _cared_. He doesn't. Like. Boys."

"Trust me, he does. And fuck you, Jack. Because--because why the hell shouldn't he like me?"

"Because he's rich," Jack said maliciously. "Because he could have anyone he wants, and you aren't exactly his _class_. But you're _great_ for making his dad enraged."

"Fuck YOU," Spot repeated. "He's not--he can't tell his dad because he'd--his dad would _kill_ him."

"Please, Spot. I thought you of _all_ people would realize the thing with his dad is bullshit."

Spot's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What the hell does _that_ mean?" he demanded.

"You know what it means, Sean!" Spot glared at the use of his real name. "You know exactly what it fucking means. He's got everything, and you got jack shit, but still, he wants every to fucking feel sorry for him just because his dad has a little fucking temper! I don't see you going around trying to win everyone-"

"Don't fucking TALK about my dad!" Spot roared. "I fucking put that behind me, and I'm not about to talk about it because you want me to be your little therapy case!"

"I don't--"

"You WANT me to be fucked up and unhappy!" Spot shoved Jack into the wall. "You LIKED it when you were the only one I fucking told anything to! As soon as something fucking good, shit, AMAZING, comes into my life you just want to back it down and bring me back to whatever the fuck I am."

Jack was biting his lip, his fists clenched. "What, you saying Tony matters to you more than I do?"

"It's not like I matter to _you_," Spot said sourly. "Like I said; you just want someone to head shrink."

"That's what you think?"

"Yeah, it's what I think!" Spot yelled back. "It's how you fucking _act!"_

"Well, fuck you too!" Jack spat. "I'm fucking TRYING to look out for you, like a fucking _brother_--"

"You're _not_ my brother!" Spot interrupted. "Okay, you're just not. I don't have a brother, and my mom is a drug addict and my dad is insane, and don't you fucking _dare_ think that gives you the right to act like you know what's best for me!"

"Yeah? Well it's not like _my_ life was exactly a picnic, but _I_ fucking managed to deal with it, and you--you fucking _won't_, you're always acting like such a little shit and people put up with it because they feel _bad_ for you, but--"

"YOUR life wasn't a fucking PICNIC?" Spot screamed. "Don't--fucking DO NOT act like you have ANY idea what the hell my _life_ was like just because _your_ dad is in jail, you asshole!"

"_You're_ the asshole!" Jack shot back. "You and you're fucking attempt at being a misunderstood, angst full--"

"Did your dad fucking hang you by your hair outside an eight story window when you were eight years old and sing 'Rock A Bye Baby' at the top of his lungs? NO!" Spot shoved Jack one more time, his voice cracking. "NO, he fucking _didn't_! You have SOMETHING at least! You have a mom now, you have a girlfriend, you have best friends and none of them 'feel sorry for you' as a reason to hang out with you. Yeah, I have jack shit, I _had_ jack shit, and now I might actually have _something_."

Jack winced, realizing words he'd said. Spot didn't, not caring about the ones he'd responded with.

"So fuck you." Spot shook his head. 

"Sean—" Jack started.

"No. Fuck you. I'm going out." Spot turned back the way he'd come, so angry he couldn't even stomp, though he did slam the door impressively loudly on his way out. Jack heard it, and slumped against the wall, defeated. That hadn't gone the way he'd planned.

Outside, Spot walked down the bus stop. He had a few dollars on him, and the 77's last run would be there in another 15 or 20 minutes, assuming it was on time. And he really couldn't stand the thought of seeing Jack again for awhile, and wanted to be with someone who cared about him, who didn't think of him as Jack's fucked up foster brother. Which all of his friends did. Except for Racetrack.

Racetrack's family would not be happy to see him.

He didn't really give a damn.

*

B: Well, it's been awhile. Because stupid things like "real life" and "school" and "theater" kept getting in the way of getting this chapter edited.

F: And we're getting sick and tired and doing very badly. *grin* Also, I had a girly crisis which B helped me with. She rocks tons.

B: As does Funkie, because she lets me giggle about The Boy, who is yet another reason why the chapter was late in coming. BUT, well, we hope you enjoyed it. It's the beginning of a longish story arch, though you can't quite see where it's going yet. Mwahahahaha.

F: Can I give a sexy hint?

B: Please do.

F: Spot. Sex. With a girl.

B: Aaaaaaah, yes. I'm smirking, by the way. Also, another sexy hint? "Mafia."

F: Also, you know who likes sexy? Shade. You know who this chapter is dedicated to? Shade.

B: Because we love her to death, and know she's had a hard time lately. *hugs* Stay strong, darling.

F: Also, may I add that my love for all of these characters (particularly Itey) is becoming way too unhealthy? Not to mention that we're more addicted to this fic than our fans are...

B: It's kind of sad. We totally are. And in my case, substitute "Dutchy" for "Itey" because as much as I adore the sweet, shy bass player thing... Well. Sexy, drug addicted guitarist. ::drool:: Yeah, this is not healthy.

F: It's funny because I love Jay and she loves Patrick and that really plays a role...

B: Everyone in the whole wide world should know who Jay and Patrick are. Get thee to sloanmusic[dot]com! Patrick is so hot and snarky...

F: Jay is so pretty and soft...

B: So there you go. Also, Sloan rocks.

F: This chapter was celebrated with me having a pig out night and sharing a little of it with B.

Namely cereal and ice cream.

B: And with IHOP in honor of my show tomorrow. Mmm. IHOP.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed (still no time for shoutouts, which sucks, we know) and especially Thistle, who left us THREE reviews. Wow.

F: Thistle rocks.

B: And so does everyone else who's reading this. Stay tuned for our next exciting chapter. 'Night!


	10. Family Business

Everything You've Done Wrong 

Ain't found a way to kill me yet

Eyes burn with stinging sweat

Seems every path leads me to nowhere

Wife and kids household pet

Army green was no safe bet

The bullets scream to me from somewhere

Here they come to snuff the rooster

Yeah here come the rooster, yeah 

You know he ain't gonna die

No, no, no, ya know he ain't gonna die

Walkin' tall machine gun man

They spit on me in my home land

Gloria sent me pictures of my boy

Got my pills 'gainst mosquito death

My buddy's breathin' his dyin' breath

Oh god please won't you help me make it through

Here they come to snuff the rooster

Yeah here come the rooster, yeah

You know he ain't gonna die

No, no, no ya know he ain't gonna die

-Alice in Chains, _Rooster_

**_Ten: Family Business_**

It was 12:34 AM and Race wasn't done with his homework, and he wasn't getting any closer to finishing it while listening to the Stones on his discman and drumming his pencil on the top of his notebook. It wasn't like it mattered; it was History after all, and he wasn't half bad at it.

But he couldn't sleep. He had too much of an adrenaline high. And he was in a great mood.

Moments earlier, Sophia had rushed into his room and smothered his forehead and cheeks with kisses, thanking him over and over for leaving Itey and her alone.

Race didn't tell her he'd spied on them from his window, staring at the front porch to make sure Itey didn't get fresh with his hands. But Itey hadn't even kissed her, so Race was pretty much content.

Besides, he was too full of...what was it, Spot-goodness, to really be angry at Itey for making his younger sister grow up a little.

He was just so happy he could hardly stand it.

He had the discman up loud enough that he didn't notice the tap at his window. The second one he did notice, but figured it was a tree branch, as he was on the third floor. But then it happened again, and again, like someone was knocking.

He looked up at the window, and very nearly fell off his chair.

Spot was wrapped around a tree branch outside, looking like he might fall at any moment, one arm shakily extended to bang on the window. Race jumped to his feet, tearing off his headphones, and rushed to open the window.

"...Hi?" he said.

"Mind stepping to the side so I can get in before I fall?" Spot panted, and Race did as he asked. Spot managed to sort of half-crawl, half-climb in.

"Hey," he said, once safely inside Race's room.

"Hey. Um...?"

"I need somewhere to crash tonight."

"Okay." Race nodded and gestured towards his bed. "Should I ask--"

"No." Spot sat, then kicked off his shoes and leant back on the comforter. "I fucking hate Jack, is all."

"I thought you two were--"

"We _were_. We're not anymore, and the guy is a complete asshole and I can't be at home right now, and I don't exactly have a lot of other places I can go."

"Okay. Well, I'm not sure how--we've got a guest room, or..." Race trailed off. "If I get you up early, can you get the first bus back?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Really early. Like, before my parents wake up early."

"Sure."

"Because if we fucking get caught..."

"Thanks, Tony."

Race shut his history text book, and climbed onto the bed, next to Spot. "No problem," he murmured in Spot's ear.

They were silent, and Race let his hand slip around Spot's shoulder. Spot slumped on top of him suddenly, and they fall backwards on the comforter, both staring up at the ceiling. He checked Spot's face, looked for a mood.

But Spot was blank, empty, staring up at his ceiling.

"Spot?"

"Hm."

"You wanna talk?"

"Fuck no." Spot rolled over slightly, and looked down at Race's face. "Trying to forget it happened. You got any pajamas that'll fit me? Or am I gonna get to sleep in the nude?"

Race smirked and pushed Spot off of him, and climbed off the bed towards his dresser. "I got some t-shirts, but you're stuck with boxers, man, my legs are ten times shorter than yours." Spot didn't reply and Race didn't think much of it as he dug around in the drawers. "Where the hell are all those shirts..."

He finally settled on a Simpsons tee, and when he turned to look at Spot saw his boyfriend sitting cross legged, staring out the window.

Race didn't talk; he observed Spot's worn down looking face. He was sure Spot didn't want him to see him like that.

"Spot?"

Spot turned to face him quickly, his expression switching bang on into one of casualness. "Hey. That mine?"

"It is. It has Bart Simpson on it."

"Can't go wrong with the Bartman." Spot took the shirt from him.

He changed, and Race admired him as he did so, but Spot didn't seem to notice. He didn't even smirk, and Spot not smirking as his boyfriend hungrily watched him strip down... Something was up. But Race knew Spot well enough to know talking was probably a bad idea.

So he was fairly shocked when Spot swallowed hard and murmured, "My childhood was really messed up."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Race had been in the process of changing himself, but he usually slept in a pair of boxers, so he was really just shirtless. He sat down on the bed next to Spot. "Can I... Help you? At all?"

"Nah." Spot paused. "You've got great fucking arms, Tony."

"From drumming," Race answered.

"Whatever. They're nice."

"Thanks."

There was another silence.

"You're not, like, using me in some elaborate scheme to get revenge on your father for being a dickhead, are you?"

"Um, no."

"Good." He paused. "I, I didn't think you were. But Jack... Jack's a real piece of shit sometimes."

"Don't worry about it," Race said.

"I really didn't--"

"I know, Spot. Seriously, don't worry about me--you and me--right now. Just let me know if I can help, okay?"

Spot almost managed to smile. _Almost_. "Okay," he answered.

They shifted positions as Race turned to click off the light in his room, and slip under the covers. Spot, looking more skinny than usual, probably because of how vulnerable he was at the present time, was curled tight under the comforters, grasping them around him.

Race slipped his arms around Spot's waist, pressing his cheek against Spot's back. He felt his foot touch Spot's calf, and noted how cold his boyfriend was, but he wasn't shivering at all.

"You sure you're okay?"

"No."

"Are you..." Race rephrased the question. "Sure you don't want to talk?"

"...no."

"Are you going to talk?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Just...keep your arms around my waist."

"I can do that," Race murmured into Spot's hair. And after a minute, Spot seemed to relax, and after another ten, they were asleep, with Race's alarm set for five in the morning.

*

Spot was awake before the alarm went off; Race was not. So when Race woke up, he had Spot propped up on his elbows over him, nose to nose, smirking. "Hey there, sexy," Spot half-purred.

"Ught. Morning breath," Race answered, but kissed Spot quickly anyway, and went to shut off the alarm before it could rouse anyone else.

"Your bed..." Spot said, falling back into the sheets. "Is like one, gigantic, fucking orgasm cloud."

Race grumbled in response. "Don't talk so much...is mornin', ya ass."

Spot snickered. "You look like such shit."

"So do you."

"I sure fucking _don't_." Spot rolled out of the bed, yawning, and pawing around on the floor for his shirt. "Jesus Christ, get up. You're like a woman."

"'Mnot..."

"Are too."

"Mnoo...."

"Wake up!" Spot smacked Race's head as he started to doze off again.

"'S _early_," Race whined.

"Yeah. It's good for you."

"Is not." He sat up, and sulked in bed for a second. "The things I do for you."

"You gonna drive me home?" Spot asked, glancing in the mirror on the back of Race's door. He began to finger comb his hair. He definitely didn't look like shit (though really, neither did Race; the sleepy thing was far too cute), but he didn't look exactly good, either.

"Ught. Caaaaaan't. School..."

Spot nodded, he'd expected that. "Is it safe for me to sneak out the door, or am I back to the window?" he asked.

"Lemme check." Race managed to actually get to his feet. "An' get coffee. Want 'ny?"

"Sure."

Race nodded and wandered out of the room, bare feet cold against the wooden stairs. Only to discover that his father was already awake, reading the earliest addition of the financial times section of the paper, and sipping a cup of coffee.

"Racetrack." He looked up quizzically. "You're awake early. Feeling all right?"

Figured. His father would try and be funny first thing in the morning. He shrugged. "I..." His brain wasn't working well enough to formulate excuses correctly, but as he caught the scent of his father's coffee, it began to work. A stroke of genius hit him. "David left his bus pass at school yesterday, so I said I'd pick him up. But it means I gotta go _early..."_

"He can't pay the bus fare?" his father asked.

"Well he--I mean, he tutors me all the time, I figured it would be nice to... y'know..."

"Fine." His father nodded towards the kitchen. "There's a pot of coffee on already."

"Thanks."

He wondered if his father was always so... normal... during the mornings.

Race started to make two cups of coffee, but remembered that his father would probably wonder why the hell he'd be doing that. So he just made one _big_ one, and hoped Spot liked black. He nodded to his father once the coffee was finished and he left the kitchen, cursing in his head, but also kind of laughing.

Spot got to climb out the window again it seemed.

He entered his room and handed the cup to Spot. "Dad's downstairs; window."

"Fuck, 'cause my leg hurts. I twisted it climbing up last night or something." Spot wiggled his toes. "Seriously, I'd fucking fall."

Race swore under his breath. "Uh...I could...sneak you out. Or get Izzy for help."

"Isn't she at college...?" Spot asked.

"Yes, but a well placed phone call... I mean, if it'll keep dad in the dining room for a few minutes..."

"She won't mind?"

"If I wake her up at five in the morning to help me sneak my boyfriend out of the house after he was never supposed to spend the night to begin with? She'll be furious." He grinned. "But she'll help." He handed Spot the coffee and reached for his cell.

"Is this... Fucking designer coffee?" Spot asked after a few sips.

"Yeah." Race hit Izzy's number on speed dial, and after a few minutes of muttered conversation in Italian--very repetitive Italian, as apparently Isabella didn't function much better when awoken than her brother did--he hung up. A minute later, the phone rang and his father answered it downstairs.

Both boys were dressed by now, half heartedly, and Race grinned at Spot who was still sitting blissfully in the soft sheets.

"You're off," Race said, grabbed his hand. "K, gotta show you which stairs are the least creaky."

"You richies have creaky stairs?" Spot mumbled as they left his room. "You really _are_ just like us."

"Shut up."

They snuck down the stairs, quietly, Race glancing about every two seconds to make sure none of the girls were out of bed.

As they started towards the front door, Spot turned to face him with what was almost a pout on his face.

"Walk me to the freaking bus stop, man."

Race just smirked.

"Come on, I fucking hate being alone this early in the fucking morning."

"Keep it _down."_ Race pushed his hand to Spot's mouth, and then pulled back when Spot licked his palm. "Eew, fucker."

"Come on, walk with me."

"...."

"Come ooonnn."

"I'm not walking with you," Race finally said, relenting, and smug that he had such a good plan so early in the morning. "I'm fucking driving you. Because I'm the best boyfriend ever."

He shut the door behind them. "Wait in the car; I'll be out once I've grabbed breakfast. Lie down in the backseat or something in case Dad looks out a window."

"Wait, how did you--"

"Because I _am_ the best boyfriend ever." He smirked and let himself back into the house; when he reappeared five minutes later he had his backpack and a box of cereal to munch from. Spot was nowhere in sight, so he let himself into his car.

"You're there?" he asked softly.

"Yes, I'm fucking here." Spot's voice was muffled from the back.

"Good. Once we're a few blocks away..."

"Then fucking hurry. This is not comfortable."

Race pulled out of the driveway, chucking the cereal box at Spot, and drove off, giving a wave to the doorway, where his father was standing and still drinking his coffee. Specifically, drinking out of _that_ mug.

It was the one Race had made him when he was like...four. It was the ugliest mug the world had ever seen, and Race hadn't even noticed that his father was drinking out of it this morning.

It gave him a weird, warm feeling inside. He had to wonder how could something so small and pointless make him almost want to pretend his family was normal again, like he used to do.

Race shook his head. It was early; all he'd had was coffee, and he'd spent the night with his boyfriend. Of course he was a little out of it.

"Can I come up now?"

"Not yet."

"For _fuck's_ sake..."

"What?"

"You are fucking _paranoid_."

"People keep telling me that."

"And people also tell you that you're stupid, and they're both true."

"I have every reason in the world to be paranoid. And I'm not stupid, I'm a drug addict. There's a difference."

"Could've fooled me."

"Shut _up."_ Race aimed for the nearest pothole, which lead to a loud "OW!" coming from Spot in the back. "Heh."

"Asshole."

"I'm an asshole who let you crash at my house at great personal risk, risked my sister's wrath to sneak you out of said house, and managed to bullshit my way into having a reason to drive you home."

"...But you're _still_ an asshole. Can you pull over yet?"

"Yeah; I need gas anyway. There's a station at the next corner."

He heard crunching in the back and then Spot said, "Fuck, this is _good_ cereal."

"I know."

"Is it like, some weird Italian shit?"

"Of course."

More crunching. "It's _good_."

Race turned a corner, and quickly reached his hand back. Spot dropped a few pieces in his hand, and Race threw them in his mouth as he drove into the gas station, to the nearest pump.

He looked back at his boyfriend. "Coast is clear."

Spot looked hilariously uncomfortable, his feet up on the seat and his back and head scrunched on the floor; he was still snacking on the dry cereal. "You are such a dumbass."

"You look like a noodle." Race smiled, and Spot flicked a piece of cereal up at his face. "Come on, you can get up."

"Maybe I don't want to, now."

"Suit yourself." Race got out of the car--this time he bothered to open the door and everything--and pumped his gas; when he turned back around, Spot had climbed out and was leaning against the car, eating cereal.

"I need a shower," Spot commented.

"Yeah, me too." Race finished with his gas, put the pump back in it's cradle, and headed into the attached ExpressMart to pay. Also to buy a bag of Skittles. "You want anything?"

"Get me a doughnut?" Spot asked.

"Yeah. What kind?"

Spot hesitated, then decided it was easier to just go with Race and get himself a doughnut. Race paid, tore open his Skittles, and dropped four in his mouth at once.

"I can not believe you're having Skittles for breakfast."

"Craving," Race said, his mouth full of candy. "Sugar."

Spot started to make a comment about licking sugar off of Race, and stopped short. A gray van had pulled up next to Race's car, blocking the view of it from the store, and there was another one on the other side of the pump.

Odd. But Race didn't seem to notice, and kept walking.

Spot raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and followed him, glancing at the vans with an odd expression. "Tony?"

"What?" He raised his head, mouth full of Skittles. 

Spot grinned, and took the few that were in Race's hand and plopped them in his mouth. "Have I mentioned that you can't eat by yourself?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Wipe your face, you have purple on your bottom lip."

Race flipped him off and rubbed his lip with his thumb. Spot forgot about the vans.

Until the door of the far one opened and someone grabbed his arm as he started to get into the car.

He moved to pull away and yell, but a hand covered his mouth. He twisted and saw a man in a suit, and another by the van with a gun in his hand, and then he noticed the strange scent coming from the man's glove. The world began to go fuzzy, he felt oddly dizzy and then... Black.

*

Racetrack opened his eyes. There was a very dim ceiling light in the room, which buzzed and flickered annoyingly. The room was small, with no windows and cement walls, and a cold cement floor. Race knew the floor was cold because he was lying on it, his upper back slumped against a wall, with his hands and feet tied and a lingering sense of dizziness.

Spot was draped next to him, tied and gagged--Race wondered for a moment why _he_ hadn't been gagged--and still unconscious. He wondered where he was and what had happened. But he had a sinking feeling he could guess.

With dread, he allowed himself to look around the room, which wasn't empty. In fact, there were two other men in it; one skinny, and very much Italian, the other Mr. Paperelli.

Race stared. "Mr. Paperelli, what the--"

"And the little Valentino man's awake," the skinny one said. "Tony, how ya feelin'?" Race raised an eyebrow, and cast his eyes slightly to the right to look at Spot. Then he looked back up at the two men staring at him. "Your friend? He ain't so bad. Little guy, he went down pretty easy."

Race still didn't say anything. It was like...some sort of dream. Things like this weren't possible. Right?

"Your daddy's a little too trusting," Mr. Paperelli said. "He went into this without a care in the world, it was really very easy."

Race didn't say anything. He could feel the panic rising; he didn't know where he was, but his dad was involved, which automatically made it dangerous. His father had said Mr. Paperelli was... not in _their_ Family, but someone he trusted, but...

His father was too trusting.

Somehow, Race had never imagined that. But then, he'd also never imagined he'd end up here, where ever here was.

He was suddenly very shaky, the craving he'd had that morning back with a vengeance, and he wondered what time it was. Had more than an hour passed, would someone be looking for him? Would his father be _allowed_ to look for him?

He searched the two men with his eyes, his expression pleading and frightened, and finally the skinny one smiled. Race was familiar with that kind of smile; it was the one his father used when he was sure of himself and talking to someone who'd messed up. It had been turned on Race himself countless times.

Finally, he spoke. "If you're old enough to be running errands, you're old enough to deal with the consequences."

Then he left, leaving Race alone with Mr. Paperelli and Spot, who showed no signs of stirring.

"So." Mr. Paperelli straightened up. "You can bet I was a might surprised when your daddy told me that _you'd_ be running this errand. After all, it's no secret that you were in a bit of trouble two years ago. Oh, wait," he put a hand up to his mouth. "That's supposed to be ancient history, isn't it, Little Valentino?"

"What are you getting at?" Race asked, pushing himself further into the wall.

"Just a little irony, that's all." Mr. Paperelli smiled. "Your daddy doesn't know that his own son, his own little fucked up, cokehead son..." He leaned closer to Race; his breath smelled like the pharmacy. "Was delivering _drugs_. Don't ya love that?"

"Wh-what?" Race asked, his voice shaky. Well, really, _he_ was shaky.

"Oh, don't feel bad. Your _dad_ didn't even know. He's been a bit squeamish about drugs since your _incident_. You caused a fucking _lot_ of trouble for us, Little Valentino."

It had been a long time since anyone had called Race by his real last time. He'd never heard the whole story about why it had been changed--or any story at all, really--just got the impression that his father had had a problem with work, his _real_ work, because they had moved halfway across the country and changed names. He'd just been starting school at that point, Sophia barely remembered it. He wasn't sure Maria had even been born yet.

He didn't know how to react, so he just waited.

"You and your father." Mr. Paperelli sounded disgusted. "Well, you'll both be taken care of soon."

Race didn't say anything--he was paranoid he'd give something away, get his father in even more trouble than he was probably already in. By the sounds of it, Mr. Paperelli wanted them both dead.

What about...but what about Spot? Race glanced once again at his unconscious boyfriend, and Mr. Paperelli snorted.

"Your fault for driving buddies around at five thirty in the morning," he ruffled Race's hair. "He'll just have to go too, won't he?"

"No, he, he didn't fucking do anything, he wasn't part of anything and he didn't--" Race started to babble, and then quickly bit his tongue to avoid making an idiot of himself. These kind of guys hated idiots. A lot.

"I guess he'll think twice about who to make pals with in his next lifetime, Little Valentino." Mr. Paperelli checked his watch and whistled. "Well, I've got an appointment in less than an hour. You get comfortable; Little Caesar will be your new friend this afternoon."

Race made a confused face. _Little Caesar_?

Mr. Paperelli grinned. "His mama makes good pizza."

Race shut his eyes and slumped against the wall. He heard the door shut again, and when he opened his eyes he was alone with the still unconscious Spot. Except Spot was starting to roll over, vaguely straining against his restraints, and after almost a minute went rigid. He twisted and rolled over and was facing Race. His eyes went wide, and he'd probably have said something if it wasn't for the duct tape over his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Race murmured quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Spot struggled to push himself into a sitting position, hard to do when he could barely move. Race didn't know what to say, but he knew he needed to explain somehow. Finally, he just let it all come out.

"You shouldn't be here, you weren't involved, but you _are_ here so I guess you deserve to know that my dad is a hitman for the mafia and last week I ran an errand for him even though I didn't want to, and the guys who I was dropping things off for kidnapped us and I think they're going to kill us and I don't know why or what's going on other than that, and I'm really really sorry you're involved and if I can get you out of this, I will."

He didn't pause for breath during the entire run on sentence. And Spot just stared at him.

Spot snorted, and let out a muffled sound, that Race took for a phrase along the lines of 'Are you fucking kidding me'?

"I'm serious, Spot," he said, feeling like he was losing his breath. "I wouldn't fucking joke about that. Well, I would, but this time I'm not. I really wish I was."

Spot let out another muffled noise, and finally succeeded in getting into a sitting position. He opened his mouth, causing the cloth that was held in with duct tape to fall inside it. He coughed, and Race raised an eyebrow as Spot seemed to be attempting to push the cloth away with his tongue.

"Spot, you..." Race sighed. "No, I probably don't want to hear what you have to say to me, so I'm not gonna help."

Spot made another noise, but Race was pretty sure it was a swear. He looked at Spot again, and shrugged. "I'm so fucking sorry..."

Spot continued to strain against the duct tape, and finally spat out the cloth. The tape was still attached above his top lip, but he could speak now. Though the area around his mouth looked bright red and sore. 

"This is insane," he said.

"Yeah."

"Your dad... Your dad _kills_ people?"

"Yeah."

"Fucking..." he trailed off, and finally muttered, though it was muffled by the tape, "You really are a goddamned walking stereotype."

"I'm a goddamned walking _dead_ _man_ is what I am. Except I'm not walking, I'm tied up in a fucking basement somewhere."

Spot didn't say anything, until finally, "I'm claustrophobic. Just so you know. When I start screaming."

"Uh, screaming would probably be a bad--"

"YOUR GODDAMN DAD KILLS PEOPLE FOR THE MAFIA AND WE'RE GOING TO DIE AND YOU THINK _SCREAMING_ IS A BAD IDEA?!"

Race winced, as much as he could while tied hand and foot. Spot had a valid point, really.

"You didn't fucking tell me that..." Spot glanced around the room, and pushed himself further into the wall. "That you fucking had a fucking Mafia DAD. And you fucking didn't tell me that you did shit for him either!"

Race paled. "No, Spot, I swear to fucking _God_ that was the only time I did!"

"Like shit!"

"Would you calm down?" Race snapped. "I wouldn't LIE about that, I only did it once, and I didn't want to do it anyway, I HAD to!" Spot was staring hard at him now, glowering. "I fucking had to, okay? I couldn't get out of it."

More silence passed between them and Spot adjusted his position, still looking fairly pissed and very much uncomfortable. "How am I supposed to believe that?"

"Because it's the truth," Race muttered.

Spot kicked his heel, trying to remove his bonds. It didn't work too well. "You have a mafia dad and you only did something for him ONCE?"

"Yeah."

"Even if that IS true, why would you go from not being involved to being involved in one fucking instant? You just woke up one day and went 'Good gosh, I feel like being a mobster! What a coincidence! SO IS MY DAD!"

"Stop shouting!"

"NO."

"Spot, please, I--it wasn't a fucking easy decision, okay?"

"Fuck you."

"I _mean_ that, Spot! It wasn't--I spent my whole goddamn life trying to not be my dad, not get involved in his life, making sure I knew as little about it as possible, and then--"

"Then you got high as a kite and changed your damn mind, right?" Spot spat.

"Half right." Race glared at him. "I got high as a kite and when I came down realized that Dutchy was in a lot of trouble and--"

"Holy shit."

"Spot--"

"Holy--you mean his community service is--he got off light because of--of _this_?"

"...yeah," Race said quietly. "I _had_ to do that for Dad, after I'd fucked up so badly with Dutchy, I--"

"He doesn't blame you," Spot interrupted. "You didn't owe him anything."

"Yes," Race said firmly, "I did."

"Jesus Christ..." Spot fell back against the wall. "Jesus goddamned Christ..." He glanced at Race. "So...what, your old man made you do it?"

"I couldn't ask for a favor and not expect to do one in return. It's how it works." Race explained. "You do it for the Family, personal relationships have nothing to do with it. I would have had to pay him back sooner or later."

"...so you weren't lying? That really was the first time you've done anything for him?"

"Yeah."

Spot started kicking his heel again, for lack of anything better to do than at least attempt to free himself from his bonds. "Dutchy would have been at Juvie if it wasn't for you." Race shrugged. "Jesus, fucking Mafia Dad...no wonder Jack was suspicious."

Race started to retort, but saw that Spot was joking. "Yeah...I'm a real bad influence."

"God, I can't fucking believe this."

"You get used to it."

"No you fucking _don't_."

"I got used to it."

"You had a life to get used to it."

"Yeah, but..." He trailed off. So Spot was right.

"So this is it," Spot mumbled. "We're going to die. In a fucking basement."

"Yeah."

"I hate basements." He shuddered. "I hate them."

"Uh...?"

Spot hesitated, then said quietly, "My dad locked me the basement for awhile when I was, like, seven. Like, for a month." He shuddered. "I fucking _hate_ not having windows."

"Oh, God. Spot..."

"Y'know, you're the first person I've ever met whose dad was more fucked up than mine."

"He's not fucked up, he just..." he trailed off. "So he is fucked up, this whole thing is. God, I'm so sorry you were in the car..."

"Well, whatever. Always figured I'd die young, anyway."

"Spot, man, I don't want to die." Race coughed, maybe to hide how much his voice was vibrating.

"Me neither." Spot paused. "You got any of those Skittles left?"

"How can you..." Race trailed off and adjusted his position a bit. "Fuck me, they stole my fucking Skittles!"

"Bastards."

"They kidnap us, they're going to kill us, and they don't even leave my Skittles."

"Yeah."

Race let out a long sigh. "You're taking this really well."

Spot shrugged. "I've seen some crazy things. Have you heard about Dutchy's mom?"

"Only at the trial."

"Well, she's like, a few tones bellow our dads. She's _nuts_."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like, out of our whole group of friends, only Itey and Dave have normal families. And Sarah isn't exactly normal." He snorted. "Poor Jack."

"Mush's family is... Well, they _were_ normal. And then he told them he was gay and now his mom is constantly on the brink of a nervous breakdown and just wants to know where she went wrong as a mother."

"Heh."

"Honestly, it's amazing any of us are as well adjusted as we are."

"Um," Spot said. "We really _aren't_."

Race laughed. "We are..._so_ fucked up considering, but for fucked up kids, we're very well adjusted."

Spot opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, reconsidered, and grinned. "Hey, that's true. Now I can tell Jack and Denise that I'm not that bad."

"Denise?"

"Foster mom."

"Ah...so, uh...now that we're gonna die and all..." Race started scraping patterns in the floor with his finger nail; considering the posture he had to get in to do it, it would probably _kill_ his back. "You might as well tell me what you and Jack were fighting about anyway."

Spot shrugged. "It feels kind of stupid now." He paused. "But not really."

"Only YOU could find a daily argument still relevant when you're about to die."

"Did I ask you?" Spot groaned. "Goddamnit, I have an itch... uh, well... Jack doesn't... like you. At all."

"Yeah, I got that feeling. So?"

"So he was trying to convince me to dump you and I got kind of angry and, uh, said some kind of mean things. And so did he, and he brought my dad into it and I just lost it and... You know, I'm _way_ better adjusted than I used to be; I didn't even try and hit him. I just left."

"Good?"

"I'm sure my shrink would say so."

"Oh."

"Of course, my shrink also thinks that being gay is a phase I'm going through to change and control something in my life."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He forgot one detail with that theory though." He paused. "He forgot how fucking hot boys are."

Race laughed. He actually _laughed_. Which, given the circumstances, was impressive. And it was hard to tell, but he suspected that Spot was smiling behind the duct tape.

It was weird. He should have been freaking out and terrified, but with Spot there he was just... Content. Nervous, but at least he was with someone who could make him feel better. Even the craving was starting to lessen.

He wondered how the hell Spot could have _such_ an effect on him, but no answers sprang to mind.

"So you and Jack got in a fight because of me?"

"Yeah." Spot paused, and then seemed to consider what he had just said. "Yeah, but don't give yourself too much credit. We fight all the time. Well, we used to. Goddamnit, I want this fucking duct tape off my mouth."

"You could try like...scraping it against the wall," Race suggested. "But then you'd end up probably scraping off half of your face and we wouldn't want anything so ugly to happen to something so pretty."

"Thanks for the concern," Spot said, turning over, and Race stared.

"You're not actually going to DO it, are you?"

"You see a reason not to?"

"I just said!"

Spot shrugged, and pushed his face up against the wall. Race couldn't watch. He shut his eyes and looked away, expecting to hear shouts of pain emit from Spot any second now.

"OW! Godfuckingdamn--ahHAH."

Race opened his eyes as Spot was struggling to get back to a comfortable sitting position, the duct tape now stuck to the wall next to him, and a scratch on his nose. "Cute," Race muttered.

"Shut up. Why the hell didn't they gag _you_?"

"I think so they could talk with me. I don't know, though. It's not like I've done this before."

"Yeah." Spot's stomach rumbled. "God, I'm hungry enough that... That I could actually finish a meal."

"You? Never."

"Fuck you, I'm _hungry_."

"Yeah, hi, I'm the one who actually eats on a regular basis. How do you think _I_ feel?"

"Bitchy, obviously," Spot answered. "So... What happens now?"

Race started to answer that he had no idea, but was cut off when the door opened again, and Little Caesar returned. He was holding a cell phone and speaking rapidly in Italian, threatening someone, offering a warning that he'd _better_ do exactly as told or else. He crossed the room and nudged Race's side with his foot.

"Your father wants to know you're safe," he said, and crouched so he could hold the phone up to Race's ear.

"Dad?" Race asked hesitantly.

"Tony--Anthony--Jesus, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm... Uncomfortable, but... Not really hurt."

"Oh, thank God. You just hold on, Tony, I'm going to get you out of this."

"Dad, Sean's here, too."

There was a pause, and finally, "What?"

"He--It's a long story but he was with me when--"

"Later, Tony. When you're safe."

"Okay."

"Don't worry, _Fante_, I _will_ get you out safely."

"Be careful, Dad, I think--" he started to try and warn his father with his suspicious that it was really his father who was in danger, but the phone was pulled away from him.

"Valentino," Caesar continued, "Now listen here, mother fucker, you'll follow our instructions exactly or else youÕre fucking _dead _and your kid's gonna pay for..." He walked back out of the room without a word to the boys inside it and shut the door behind him.

"You okay?" Spot asked after a short pause.

"I think they're going to kill my dad," Race answered quietly, the panic returning. "I think they--when he tries to save me--oh, Jesus..."

"Hey, no one can kill _your_ dad, he's like...some sort of fucking apocalypse."

"Don't fucking..." Race let out a worried whine. "Jesus Christ, we're all going to fucking die."

"Then it _is_ an apocalypse."

"Would you cut it OUT?"

"I can't help it, I joke when things suck. Or else I would've shut down, like, four fucking years ago. I swear to god."

"Yeah," Race mumbled. He understood that; his life wasn't as chaotic as Spot's had been, but humor as a defense mechanism he was all too familiar with. Well, that and acting like a jerk. And taking drugs.

He could really, really have used drugs. Or at least his Skittles. Or _something_.

"I wish they'd just fucking get it over with," Spot said after a surprisingly long quiet.

"Hey, look, uh... My dad said he'd get us out of it; things'll be okay." He tried to sound optimistic, and failed.

"Yeah, sure." Spot sounded about as cynical as Race felt.

"Well...at least we know that someone's trying to do something." Race pulled his knees up to his stomach and leaned his chin on top of them. "I dunno, I always thought when you died, you'd know it. I don't feel like we're going to die."

"I sure as hell do," Spot said, and twitched his nose. "Fucking scrape...owww..."

"That was your own fault."

"Shut up," Spot snapped. "But seriously, I didn't expect to actually look forward to the rest of life and all that shit, but I don't want to _die_. I mean, shit, I'm fucking seventeen. I don't want to _die_. And the last thing me and Jack said to each other was just a bunch of shit I can't even remember."

Race raised an eyebrow as Spot continued, the tone of his voice nearing closer and closer to panic. "Spot, don't--"

"No, seriously, he probably thinks I hate him," he continued. "And I fucking don't. Everyone thinks I hate them and I don't. I don't hate you either, okay?"

"I know."

"No. You don't." Spot stared at him. "You have no idea."

Race and Spot stared at each other as the realization of Spot's words sort of sunk in. He hadn't said anything _really_, but then again, he'd said more than he usually did. Spot avoided sentimentality. He'd told Race he liked him that day at Race's house, and Race was sure that was as close to romance that Spot ever got.

"There's a lot of shit I haven't told you," Spot mumbled, looking down at the floor. Race shrugged.

"I haven't told you everything either...well, I pretty much have now, but not everything." Race leaned his cheek against his knee and turned to face Spot. "Stuff about your dad?"

"Kind of." Spot shrugged. "I dunno, I could list all of the crazy shit he'd do, and you could analyze it all you want. But I've never had a shrink who told me they thought I'd get better. Because I never will."

Race breathed out some of the bad air forming inside of his throat. "He fucked you up pretty good, didn't he?"

"Yeah." Spot kicked the ground. "Fucking _bastard_...I don't usually care, but I...Jack just told me that everyone was my friend because they felt bad for me, and all that. And I already knew all of that, but--"

"That's not why everyone's your friend," Race broke in. "Take my word for it. I've been there, I worry about the same thing all the time, but you just have to take your--"

"Jack fucking SAID it, Tony."

"So?" He was leaning towards Spot now, wishing more than anything he could move his hands. "So, you said a lot of stuff to Jack that you didn't mean either. You should know better than anyone that Jack sometimes doesn't think before he talks."

"...still," Spot mumbled. "Still, I wouldn't be such a fucking asshole if my old man didn't..."

Race watched his boyfriend's face. An overwhelming surge of emotion was starting to build in his stomach. The more he looked at Spot, the more he listened to him, the more he wanted to be with him, the feeling just got bigger.

He couldn't stand how down Spot was now. All because Spot was with _him_.

This was his fault.

"Spot," he mumbled. "Look, I--fuck, when this is through if you never talk to me again--I mean, if you don't want to, that's... It's cool. I mean, not... I mean... Fuck."

"Tony?" Spot murmured.

"I--I just fucked your life up beyond belief and--I mean, if I was you I wouldn't want to... Jesus."

"Are you _dumping_ me?"

"Shh!" Race hissed. "There are--fucking people _listening_ probably..."

"Well, are you?"

"No! But I, I just don't want to see... I mean, if you and Jack are fighting and it's my fault.... I don't want to make things worse, if Jack's your brother and all..."

"_Tony_," Spot said, sounding partly annoyed and partly embarrassed. "Don't, okay? Just don't."

"But--"

"Don't!" he snapped, and kicked Race's foot; well, attempted to, really. "Get it through your _head_. You're one of the first good goddamned things to happen to me in like...forever. Or a long time. Whatever, if you fucking dump me, I'll kick your ass."

"Spot--"

"I'll kick-your-ass."

Race stared at him, slightly open mouthed, but then laughed again for the second time that night. Again, the emotion swirled around in his stomach. Pushing at him. Making him want to say things, but he didn't know quite what it was he wanted to say.

"You got that?" Spot asked.

Race nodded, still laughing a little. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good." Spot slumped against the wall. "So, tell me, what other secrets have you been keeping from me?"

"What?"

"You know." Spot winked at him and Race felt like blushing even though Spot and he had gone far beyond winking by now. "Small stuff that you've got no reason to keep from me now."

"Well, uh." Race trailed off. "I stole a bag of candy from Isabella when I was, like, eight."

"You're a natural for the mob thing then, huh?"

"Apparently not. What about you? Something you won't tell anyone else."

"Me? Hmm." Spot thought for a second. "When I was living with the homophobes, I--I was way more fucked up than I am now, then--I actually jerked off on their daughter's Barbie car, and when she asked I told her I'd been washing it."

"Oh my GOD that is DISGUSTING."

"Yeah, so? Your turn."

"Uuh..." Race bit his lip, scanning his mind, then he grinned. "Well, one time, when me and Sophia were clowning around the house, she broke this super expensive vase we got from my grandmother, right?"

"Yeah, not impressed."

"I'm not DONE," Race snapped, then continued. "So anyway, neither one of us knew what to do, so we just put the thing in a box and left it on my bedside table."

"Okay."

"Then David came over and he knocked it over by accident and started freaking out because he heard the broken glass."

"...and?"

"And so then when my dad asked what happened..."

"...you _asshole_."

"Yeah, that's mainly why dad can't stand him. And the reason he calls him all those different D names, because when my dad doesn't like somebody, he writes them off to the 'non-exist' side of his brain."

"Asshole."

"So? Your turn." Race smiled.

"I lied in confession, like, every week the religious family made me go."

"I do that _every_ week, Spot."

"Yeah?"

"'Hi, Father. I'm not gay. Really.'"

Spot snickered. "But I, like, would talk about stealing people's wallets on the street and random shit that... You know, the sort of thing people think I do, even though I... Well, I _did,_ but not then. But I'd tell him about all these awful things..."

"Why?"

"Fuck if I know."

"Well, if I was a shrink I'd probably say something about feeling a need to be punished to make sense of your own life--"

"If you were a shrink you'd be a self righteous idiot who really has no idea what he's talking about."

"Oooh, bitter?"

"Wouldn't _you_ be?"

Race considered, then grinned. "I'd be worse than you. Not that you're so bad, but considering all the shit you've been through, you turned out pretty good."

"Oh yeah, I'm a regular Homecoming King."

"No seriously." Race let his eyes travel down Spot's body and then he cleared his throat. "Seriously, you're...amazing."

Race turned the atmosphere surprisingly serious, and Spot cleared his throat, not ready for the switch. Especially since his hands were tied up.

"I'm not anything," Spot replied. "You're the one who's--"

"You're like..." Race continued. "I dunno what it is, but when I'm with you, things don't seem so bad anymore."

Spot stared down at his legs and wrinkled his nose, trying to do something about the feeling of the cut on it. And finally he mumbled towards the floor, "Yeah, I get that too."

Race looked away, because he figured Spot wouldn't want him to stare. But he realized that was the sweetest thing Spot had ever, probably to anyone, and likely the sweetest thing he ever _would_ say.

"Thanks," Race eventually said.

"Whatever."

"You know Spot, you..." He trailed off. "I really... I've never felt this way about anyone before." He leant his head back against the wall, but could feel Spot's eyes on him. And when he turned around he caught Spot's eye, and Spot was smiling.

"Yeah?" Spot asked.

"Really."

"...thanks."

"Spot I..." Race swallowed. "I think...I might..." He stopped, realizing what he just might be saying, or coming close to saying, without really knowing at all.

Spot watched him, and raised an eyebrow. "You might...what?"

Race didn't get a chance to answer because Little Caesar stormed through the door, two men behind him, both huge.

"Little Valentino," Little Caesar said, kicking at Race's foot. Spot growled up at him, and Caesar shot him a grin. "Your friend woke up, did he? That's a cute little scratch you got on your nose there, girly."

"Fuck you," Spot spat back. Race winced. Spot really needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

"Big words." He nodded his head at the two men behind him. "You see them?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, they don't have much of a liking for talking things out, so you better hope Little Valentino does everything we ask or we just might rip your fucking balls off, then kill you right here and now."

"Don't _touch_ him," Race said in a low voice.

"You do what we tell you." He reached for the inner pocket of his suit and produced a gun, stepped forward to stand between Spot and Race, held the gun almost straight down, which left it no more than six inches from Spot's skull. "Do you understand, shitface?"

Race nodded.

"Good." He moved the gun away. "I'm going to ask you questions; youÕre gonna answer with as much information as you have. Some of them I know the answers to, so if you lie to me, I'll blow your friends brains out. Understand _that_?"

He nodded again.

"How much did you know about the errand you ran?"

"Not much." Race swallowed hard and continued when he didnÕt ask another question. "I was told where to pick it up, where to drop it off, what to say and what route to take. I... I didn't know what it was or... Or anything like that."

Little Caesar raised an eyebrow. "What was the name of the Judge who got you off two years ago?"

Race made a confused face. "What?"

"You fucking heard me, Little V," he snapped, bringing out the gun again. Spot was looking, to be truthful, like he was about to piss himself. "Your judge's _name_ when you got off two years ago."

"How am I supposed to know?" Race replied. "I was drugged up during the entire fucking trial. No, really--" He leaned forward as Little Caesar brought the gun up to Spot's kneecap. "I'm fucking serious, I have no fucking idea!"

"You understand your daddy is screwing us over with his 'no drug' policy, Little V," Little Caesar snapped. "So you're not too popular around here."

"His what?"

Caesar rolled his eyes. "Never mind that; _I_ ask questions. You answer. What _do_ you remember about your trial?"

"Not much. I--I was still really in rehab, I remember the lawyers coached me what to say--"

"What was the lawyer's name?"

"Uh, Ericson? Jeremy Ericson."

"Very good. What was your dealer's name and number?"

That, Race knew without thinking. "The name he gave me was Alan Michaels," he answered flatly. "Doubt it was real."

"I don't care what you doubt. The number?"

He provided it, and wished that after two years he could have forgotten. But he'd dialed it so many times, it was burned into his memory... And it always came up in his mind when he was craving, and his cravings were worse when he was stressed. And he'd never, _ever_ been _this_ stressed. At least, not when he wasn't getting high on a daily basis.

"How much do you know about what your father does?"

"All I know is that he's a hitman."

"Where does he get his orders?"

"No idea."

"Who does he work _with_?"

"No idea."

"Do you know why your Dad changed your name?"

"No," he said quietly.

Little Caesar snorted, and stood. For a moment, Race was sure that the horror was over; for awhile at least.

Then the large man to the right of Little Caesar kicked Spot violently in the stomach. Spot let out a huge yell, that turned quickly into a cough, and doubled over, hacking away.

"Spot!" Race exclaimed, then turned on Little Caesar. "I fucking _told_ you the _truth_! I fucking did!"

"You're a useless rich kid, that's what you are," he answered. "At least we got the phone number outta you. That's what you get for knowin' so little about the family business." He turned and nodded at the two men with him. "Come on, we probably broke the little girly's ribcage anyway."

Race shifted over as much as he could to the still coughing Spot, and swore. "Jesus, I'm sorry..."

"OOowwwww fucking godshitdamnitoow..."

"I am SO SO SO sorry..."

"Tony--"

"I swear to God, Spot, I told them everything I knew, I wouldn't--I wouldn't hurt you, let them hurt you--are you okay?"

"No." Spot slumped against the wall. "Bastard," he added.

"I am _so_--"

"Shut up, wouldya?" Spot interrupted. "Not your fault they're assholes. And--And Tony, you're not a useless rich kid. You know that, right?"

"I _am_."

"You're not. I _thought_ you were, but then I got to know you and you're _not_ what they said, okay?"

"Whatever."

"_Tony_."

"What? Since when do you care, anyway?"

"I care since I love you," Spot said matter of factly.

Race stared at him for a second, and Spot looked away and banged his head against the wall. "Owwwww."

Race blinked. Then he cleared his throat. Then he blinked again.

Spot was busy hissing out swears. So Race wasn't really sure if he'd heard correctly or not.

"You _what_?" He asked, his voice very high pitched.

"You heard me."

"No, I--"

"You fucking _heard_ me." Spot curled his knees up, and leaned forward. "Oh my _god_ they totally broke a rib."

"You love me?"

"I _said_ they totally broke a rib!"

"And _I_ said, 'you love me'?"

Spot glared up at Race. "Do I say things I don't mean, idiot?"

"Yes. You tell people you hate them all the time when you don't mean it. You say you hate me a few times a day. Which is a total lie because," he actually crowed the end of the sentence, "you _love_ me!"

"I wish you'd shut up."

Race grinned. "I'd totally do you right now if we weren't tied up."

"You could stay tied up. We could have fun with that."

Race laughed and wished he could at least lean in closer to Spot, put his head on Spot's shoulder, or kiss him, or... Well, or do exactly what they'd been discussing.

"I'm so gonna jump you the second we get out of this," Race decided.

"Yeah? For real?"

"Well, uh..." Race trailed off. "We'll see. We have to get out of here before anything else."

"Pussy."

"You _love_ me."

"_Virgin_."

"Shut up!"

Race, doing the best he could, shuffled over and leaned slightly on Spot, back to back. It was all they could do, but any form of contact from Spot was...well, incredible.

"There, I have another question," Race said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He craned his neck. "Have you _really_ had sex?"

Spot paused. "Yeah. Technically, I had sex twice."

"With guys?"

"One guy, one girl."

Race snorted. "_YOU_ had sex with a girl? I bet that didn't work out too well."

"It didn't."

"Soooo...come on, tell me what happened."

"I don't like thinking about it. Girls are _so_... ugh." Then he nudged Race. "'Cept for your sisters. They're okay."

"Har dee har. Come on, level with me."

Spot shrugged, or the closest he could while tied up. "It was when I'd just moved into Jack's. And most of the school is pretty fucking homophobic, you should see the shit they put Blink throughÉ But there was this guy, on the basketball team."

"Wait, _guy_?"

"Yeah, guy. Let me finishÉ And, let's just say this guy was... Hot. Like, jack off fantasy hot. I didn't have a crush on him or anything, I just _wanted_ him."

"Was he...?"

"No, and heÕs a total fuckhead, and gets his kicks beating the crap out of skinny gay guys who make easy targets. He's been making Blink's life hell for, like, two years, and when I showed upÉ Well, yeah. I got to share the ritual torture."

"Oh, God--"

"No wait, I totally got back at him for it."

"...Yeah?"

"Yeah, 'cause his girlfriend is, like, the hottest _girl_ in school, and sheÕs a lot nicer than he was. And she felt bad for me when he started being an asshole, and there was a party that weekend and we were both really drunk, and, well." He shrugged. "I was thinking of him the whole time."

"You fucked his girlfriend to get back at him for beating you up?"

"Fuck yeah." Spot smirked.

"I can't decide if that's incredibly awesome, or really skeevy."

"Both." Spot decided. "I'm awesomely skeevy."

Race nudged him, smiling. Wishing he could kiss him, and hold him. "Soo...the guy?"

Spot breathed. "Uh, that was like...I dunno, not long ago."

"...so wait, you had sex with this girl when you were..."

"Seventeen."

"And you had sex with a GUY when you..."

"Fifteen. Would you shut up?" Spot leaned back, putting more weight on Race. "He was my first kinda...you know, he was a nice guy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah...but he...I dunno, he was confused. And he was my best friend at the time. And we were always together, went everywhere together, and he didn't care that I was gay. So we...he kissed me one time and we had this weird, sort of relationship. That only we could see. And no one thought he was gay, so no one bothered us."

"And did you love _him_?"

Spot paused and Race really didn't want to hear the answer, but on the other hand, he really needed to know. "Yeah, a bit."

"Oh." He tried not to be disappointed. "What happened with him?"

"He realized he was totally, totally straight. God, Tony, if you do that to me I'll fucking _kill_ you."

"Trust me, I like boys."

"Good, 'cause... Yeah. We, uh. Well, after a few weeks he gave me the goddamned, 'I hope we can still be friends,' speech, like a goddamn woman, and the friends thing didn't work out. Fucker."

"So he was your first love?" Race said, sounding very very stupid.

Spot snorted. "Oh _god_, don't YOU go girly on my ass. I loved him a BIT. He messed up, we broke up, it was a long time ago. I already told you how I felt."

"Can you say it again?"

"No," Spot snapped. "I already said it."

"Please?"

"Why?"

"Becauusse...."

Spot rolled his eyes. "So _any_way. Yeah. I've done it twice. And _really_ close another time, but his parents walked in."

Race laughed. "Are you kidding!?"

"No." Spot grinned. "They threw me out, it was hilarious. You have a funny laugh."

Race immediately stopped laughing. "What? What, no I don't!"

"You _so_ do." Spot cleared his throat, and let out another cough. "It's kind of...really loud and odd. Like a laugh you only hear in the movies."

"Shut UP."

"Not like David, though. That's a _horrible_ laugh."

"It's cute."

Spot stopped smiling. "Shut up."

"Then stop making fun of my laugh!"

"David's laugh is not cute."

Race grinned. "And Mush has a really nice chest."

"Not funny. You know he had a thing for you, Tony? _Not_ funny."

"Mush never had a thing for me." Race rolled his eyes. "He's my best friend."

"Mush was in LOVE with you," Spot snapped, "since you're so fixated on the whole love thing. So don't joke about liking Mush."

"Mush..."

"And Blink would totally kick your ass."

"Blink _wishes_ he could kick my ass. I could take him."

"Whatever."

"Hey, wait; if Itey and David are the only ones with normal families, what's with Blink's?"

Spot shrugged, to the extent he could with his wrists tied. "He was in a car crash as a kid, it was really bad. His eye got totally fucked, and his mom had been driving and a couple months later she _freaked out_ and split."

"Ouch. So that's what's with the patch?"

"Yeah."

"He's pretty well adjusted," Race mused. Spot seemed confused, and then nodded.

"Yeah I guess so...he's a grounded guy."

"...was Mush _seriously_ in love with me? Because that doesn't make any sense."

Spot sighed. "Tony...you are the most clueless, hottest, most unconditionally loved person I know. _Everyone_ is fucking in love with you."

Race beamed. "God, it's so true."

"I'm not serious."

Race pouted. "Ass."

"And to set the record straight, I _like_ your stupid laugh. If I didn't I wouldn't make you laugh. I shouldn't even have to tell you this shit, because I already said..." Spot coughed again. "Yeah."

Race felt jittery--a happy kind of jittery--as couldn't stop grinning. Spot loved him. Spot _loved_ him. And it didn't matter that for all they knew, they'd be dead in an hour, because he had Spot. Really, really had Spot; it wasn't just that they were attracted to each other, it wasn't even just that they liked each other.

When they got out of this, assuming they survived, Spot would still be there. A month later, when life was back to normal, Spot would _still_ be there. Half a lifetime later, when this all seemed like a dim memory, Spot would _still_ be there. Because Spot loved him.

"I'm _so_ going to jump you as soon as we're out," Race said again.

"You serious about that?"

"...yeah, I really really think I am. I want to right now, you have no idea."

Race didn't have to see him to know that Spot was smiling. He'd never seen Spot truly smile before until today, when he'd told him he'd never felt this way about anyone before.

Spot was usually gorgeous, but when he smiled, he actually looked _happy_. It didn't occur to Race until now just how unhappy Spot looked half the time. Sulking, slouching, pouting, glaring...it was all he did.

"I wish you'd smile more," Race said.

"I wish you'd drum for me more."

They were on the same wave length and Race loved that. "Hey hey, what's your favorite thing about me?"

Spot snorted. "Arrogant much?"

"No serious, I wanna know."

"Hm." Spot chewed on his lip for a minute, then finally said, "You're confident."

"What? Be serious."

"I am being serious. You _know_ that you're hot and that you can drum and cook and you aren't even _really_ a jerk. And just... I mean, there aren't a lot of people who know, like, who they are and what they're doing. And you do. So, yeah."

"Huh." Race absorbed that. He didn't _feel_ confident, and he _did_ feel like a jerk. And most of the time his confidence was totally fake anyway. But, he supposed, he was a good actor.

"Your turn," Spot demanded.

"Uh. Well." And for some reason, his mind went blank. He could name a dozen things he loved about Spot, but actually trying to figure out what the _one_ thing that he loved the most was... It was a lot harder than he'd figured.

His head was filled with images of Spot once again, like he was filing through a book he loved, trying to show everyone his favorite page, or chapter or...even sentence. Was it the arrogance? No, not most. Was it how absolutely _gorgeous_ Spot was? No, that wasn't it. It wasn't even his writing.

Finally, he said what was in his head.

"You...are the _only_ Sean Conlon on the _entire_ planet. And you will _be_ the only Sean Conlon to ever walk the planet. No one in the world is like you, was like you, or will ever be like you."

"...is that a good thing?"

"I like you for it, don't I?" Race cocked his head to the side. "It's...wow. Do you know how many artist-types try to accomplish that? And you don't even _know_. You're so _you_. "

"Um, thanks?" Spot mostly sounded confused.

"Trust me, it's... It's fucking amazing. And a turn on. Yeah, it's a _real_ turn on."

"God, you are _not_ getting turned on in this damned basement."

"I kind of am. God, I _want_ you..."

"Figures; you're finally ready to screw me and we're going to _die_."

Oh, Race remembered. Right. The dying thing was still a problem. And if they did survive it would be back to hiding from his father, and he didn't want to do that. He wanted the whole world to know that he was dating Spot Conlon, the _only_ Spot Conlon.

"You just had to bring that up, didn't you?" Race muttered.

"Hey. My rib still fucking hurts." But Spot didn't seem to be in as bad of a mood as he was pretending, really.

"I'm sorry about that," Race said. "These guys... They mean fucking _business_. I don't know much but I figured that out."

"Yeah, I managed to get that somehow too, when the guy had a gun to my head."

"They shouldn't have... There's no goddamn reason for you to be here, they never should have even _taken_ you here--"

The door slammed open, which Race hadn't realized doors could even _do_. He thought that slamming was strictly a shutting action. There was the sound of gunshots somewhere not far away, and Little Caesar ran into the room, slammed the door shut behind him, and locked it from the inside before turning around. He had his gun back out and reached down to grab Race's collar and hauled him to his feet. Then shoved him back against the wall, stood between him and Spot again, and held the gun to Race's head, one hand holding Race's arm.

"What...?" Race asked quietly, afraid to move, trying not to shake.

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Little V," Caesar hissed, and produced a second gun with the hand that had been holding Race. "You, stand," he instructed Spot. Which Spot did, though it took him a minute to get to his feet.

And they stood there like that for a few minutes, Caesar holding a gun to either boy's head, not speaking, just glaring at the door, like he was daring it to open.

The weapon fire outside seemed to get closer. People were yelling, mostly in Italian, and it was clear that something very important was going on. A shot hit the door and someone began to shake the handle from the outside.

"If either of you moves, I'll shoot you both," Caesar said quietly. 

"You're fucking dead, Caesar!" A pause. "FUCKING _DEAD!"_

Race knew that voice. God, he knew it so well. It sounded different, though, because no matter how pissed off he'd heard the voice, it now sounded like something out of a movie. Not real life.

Not Race's life, where his father belonged.

But he could hear him now, his father, screaming obscenities in both English and Italian, and when he caught Spot's eye, he could see that Spot had figured out who it was, too.

The door was being shot at, and finally, was pushed open when the hinges were violently and impossibly broken off. Race didn't even know these kind of things were possible outside of movies either.

In the doorway was indeed his father. His father and three other men, two of whom came to their house for dinner frequently and he knew very wellÑhe was related to one of them.

"Valentino, I'll blow their fucking heads off, I swear to god..." Caesar breathed. "You can watch your little brat's brains splatter all over the fucking wall."

More yelling followed, and the next thing Race knew, everyone started shooting again, and he heard his father yelling for him and Spot to hit the floor.

So he dropped to the floor, and when he saw Spot staring stunned at the dilemma, still standing, he kicked at Spot's feet, trying to kick them out from under him. Spot tripped more than anything else and hit the ground face first, not able to catch himself with his hands tied, and after that for a minute there was nothing but noise and yelling and chaos, and abruptly it felt like the world _stopped_.

It was like being in a movie. He looked up and he could swear he saw the bullet moving, which was impossible. But it hit his father in the shoulder and his father jerked forward for a second and was bleeding, but his aim didn't falter and he fired the gun, and Race couldn't _see_ Caesar fall, but felt the man behind him take a short step forward, and drop.

The body landed on top of him and he screamed and rolled out from under it and then realized it was a _corpse_, Caesar was _dead_ and--and his father was--

He looked back up and saw his father was leaning heavily against the wall, his gun still trained on Caesar's body as though the corpse was going to start moving again, but he was panting and there was a large and growing bloodstain on the front of his father's perfectly tailored suit.

Then time went back to normal, and he reacted the way any normal human being would have.

He screamed.

*

F: B, is this...is this an UPDATE?? Is this what they look like??

B: I dunno... It's been so LONG... why is that again?

F: My lack of editing?

B: Or perhaps those dreaded things called "finals". Who can say?

F: But alas, here we are, and let me tell you, we have far from forgotten about EYDW.

B: It remains our darling and we love it so. -pets the story- Heh. We threw everyone off with the clues last chapter; sorry about that. But not really, because the Spot-girl-sex is important later.

F: It creates something all new and special.

B: But not for, like, 200 pages. Anyway, coming up next time we've got... Oh, let's see. Some more mafia-ness, some backstory, and my very favorite OC in the whole thing. -grin- He's dreamy. And dumb.

F: Yes, it's quite unhealthy. She pets him. She TALKS to him.

B: He's my preciousssssss.

F: I could name several of mine. Like a kiss. Of the public variety.

B: But aaaaaaanyhoo, we'd like to wish everyone happy holidays and thank y'all for being patient with us and reading the story. We love you.

F: -pet-

-this chapter celebrated with latkes, 'cause hey, we're Jewish and it's Chanukah!-


	11. Home

Everything You've Done Wrong 

Lying here in the darkness

I hear the sirens wail

Somebody going to emergency

Somebody's going to jail

If you find somebody to love in this world

You better hand on tooth and nail

The wolf is always at the door

In a New York Minute

Everything can change

In a New York Minute

Things can get a little strange

In a New York Minute

Everything can change

In a New York Minute

And in these days

When darkness falls early

And people rush home

To the ones they love

You better take a fool's advice

And take care of your own

One day they're here;

Next day they're gone

-Eagles, _New York Minute_

**_Chapter 11: Home_**

****

Race didn't feel or think or see for a total of... he didn't know how many minutes, because it was like he couldn't count either.

Then a man he knew (Mario--his godfather) was shaking his shoulder, yelling at him to snap out of it. Race's vision was blurred, but he could still see that Mario wasn't fazed about anyone dying. Because he killed people every day.

"Shut up, Tony..." Mario growled. "Come on, Racetrack, ya gotta shut _up_."

"Is...where..." Race darted his head around. His father was leaning on a huge man to his right, and Spot was...Spot was being helped up by his Uncle Maurice.

"Holy fucking mother of Jesus..." Race shuddered. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck..."

"Yeah yeah, but no one died." Mario gave his shoulder a pat.

"_He_ did!"

"Caesar? Eh, he doesn't matter, he was a shit head anyway."

Race started to answer but couldn't, and Mario produced a knife and severed the ropes on his ankles and wrists, and half-dragged him to his feet.

"Get him out," his father said, his voice sounding stronger than it should have.

Mario nodded and shoved Race towards the door, but stepped in front of him with his gun out. Race hesitated and threw a look towards his father. "Dad--" he started.

"Go," his father hissed. "_Now_." And then he groaned and looked like he might pass out, and Race followed Mario less because his father had told him to and more because he was terrified that if he didn't leave, he'd see his father die in front of him.

He glanced behind him, and soon Spot was being semi-hoisted out of the room by Uncle Maurice. Spot looked a little worse for wear.

"Look at this," Maurice said to Mario, and he poked at Spot's rib. Spot swore loudly. "They did a number on the poor shit, didn't they?"

"That fucking _hurt_," Spot snapped, and Maurice laughed.

"_Quite_ a mouth on him, hmmm, Mario?"

"This isn't the TIME to joke around, you fucking moron," Mario snapped and looked down at Race. "They kick you around some?"

"Just Sean."

Mario craned his neck. "You dead?"

Spot groaned. "I fucking wish."

"He _does_ got a mouth on him..."

"Hey, if you keep complaining, I WILL kill you, shrimp," Maurice snapped.

"Let's go," Mario said.

"But--Dad--" Race started.

"We'll get him help. But we gotta get out _now_ before anyone else shows up here."

"But--"

Mario stopped walking and turned around. "Look, Racetrack. Your dad was hit and we'll make sure he doesn't get forgotten, but we were _here_ to get _you_ out, so if the worst happens but you don't _get_ out it'll have been a waste. And I'm not willing to waste your dad's life, so let's _go_."

They started walking again, but only for a minute, because someone shot at them. Race dove for the floor without needing instruction, and so did Spot, and Mario and Maurice fired back in the direction of the shot, and there was a gurgle of pain from somewhere Race couldn't see in the dimly lit hallway. Mario paused to reload his gun, and then they started walking.

They made it all the way outside, and someone else in a gray suit and sunglasses was waiting, and waved them over to where two vans were parked, still turned on. Mario spoke to whoever it was for a few seconds, and then the back of one of the vans was opened and the guy gestured towards it.

Race got in; Spot and the suit followed, the door was slammed shut after them. The mafia man banged on the wall that connected to the front, and the van started moving.

"So, you're okay." The man smiled and reached up to take off his sunglasses, and Race was almost stunned.

"Marco?" he asked.

Marco was only ten years older than he was. And he had no idea Marco was involved in the family business. Because Marco wasÉ _Marco,_ just his vaguely incompetent cousin. Marco tripped over his own feet, so the thought that he carried a gun just didn't compute.

"Hey Race." Marco grinned, and even took the liberty of ruffling Race's hair. Race also couldn't help but notice Spot giving Marco the once over; people _often_ gave Marco the once over. Race's family was attractive as a whole, but Marco was downright _stunning_.

"When the hell did YOU start doing this?" Race asked, then his eyes widened. "Holy shit, dad got you involved."

"Other way around, actually, sorta," Marco said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. "You want?"

Race shook his head, but Spot eagerly took the cancer stick. "No wait, what does that mean?" Race asked.

"It means..." Marco paused as he lit Spot's cigarette up. "Jesus, Racetrack, your dad didn't start until he met your mom, when he talked to _my_ dad. You know that."

Race stared.

"You didn't know that?"

Race shook his head.

"Oh... oops."

"Wait, _what_ the hell?"

Marco laughed. "Okay, well, no reason for you not to know now that you're involved. As for you," he turned towards Spot, then shrugged, "I've got no fucking clue what we're gonna do about _you_, Dad doesn't like loose ends. But anyway..."

He cleared his throat, then said, "Your dad's new."

"How new?"

"Like... Well, about the time he and your mom got married."

"...They've been married for twenty-five years."

"For someone who wasn't born into it, that _is_ new."

"But I thought Dad..."

"Grew up with it? AhÉ no. Uncle Paulo didn't have any sort of connection until my dad introduced him to your mother. And your dad fell for her, but he wasn't exactly her _type_."

"What does _that_ mean?"

Marco shrugged. "She was rich. He, uh, _really_ wasn't."

Race just stared, and Marco laughed again.

"But it's a cute love story, really, and eventually your dad went to our grandfather and asked what he could possibly do to become acceptable enough to marry your mother. So Granddad started giving him a few jobs, and he turned out to be _really_ good at them.

"Twenty five years later, he's really about the best there is at what he does." He shrugged. "But didn't you ever wonder why you don't hear much from the rest of your dad's side of the family?"

"...No," Race said. "I never even thought about it. My mother is so..."

"Sweet? Innocent? Yeah, like your sisters. Totally born into it. But you'd never guess that."

"Wow."

"Yeah." Marco observed Spot. "Are you a chain smoker?"

"My dad was," Spot supplied. Race had to hand it to his boyfriend; Mario, Maurice AND Marco already seemed _fascinated_ by him.

"So then... Dad is just some normal... Italian guy. Was."

"That's right." Marco nodded. "But he ended up pissing off a few of the other Families. Like, obviously, the Paperellis, the Magleanos..."

"But _why_?"

"'Cause he won't have anything to do with drugs." Marco waved his cigarette around as he spoke. "Weed, hash, crack..." Race winced. "Won't _touch_ the stuff. We'd been trying to get him into it for _years_. It's where all the money is." He looked over at Spot again. "It'd be great if you were deaf."

Spot shrugged.

"What do you mean trying to..."

"Yeah, if you didn't even know your dad was new, you wouldn't know about that. Racetrack, your dad _hates_ drugs. A lot."

"Tell me something I _don't_ know."

Marco half-laughed, opened the small van window and chucked the remainder of his cigarette out. He fished out and lit another one for Spot, who accepted it gratefully. Or as close to grateful as Spot got, but considering there _was_ an addiction involved, it was still pretty clear. It occurred to Race he could really, really use a line himself, but he certainly wasn't going to mention _that_.

"Yeah, I know. _You'd_ have worked that out all on your own, cuz. He's always hated them; had a friend who OD'd in college or something. And we'd finally, _finally_ gotten him to help us out, and five years later _you_ ended up in the hospital.

"Jesus, the shit hit the fan that night."

Race actually gaped. "What?" he finally managed.

"Oh, yeah. Your dad _freaked_ on us. I've never seen anyone yell that much at a Family meeting, _ever_. It's a damn good thing he's so good at what he does because otherwise he'd never have gotten away with it."

"Gotten away with _what_?"

"With quitting on us. Walking out." Marco shook his head a little. "The Family _hates_ it when people do that."

"He _quit!?"_

"He _tried to_ quit," Marco corrected. "Well, we all tracked him down, had another meeting...in which the big boys yelled a lot and screamed a lot and little Paperelli got shot, which is why BIG Paperelli hates Uncle Paulo--"

Race was getting confused.

"--And so your dad agreed to come back in on the _condition_ that his part of the Family didn't have to touch any drugs. Not just didn't have to. Wouldn't. Ever."

Race stared. "Then this is _my_ fault."

"Yeah, pretty much," Marco said cheerfully. "But not really; Paperelli _always_ hated your dad."

"Why?"

"For being good at what he did." He shrugged. "Before Paperelli got promoted, he'd been a hitman like your dad, and your dad is _way_ better at it. Never misses a mark. And Paperelli was born into this shit, and really _hated_ that some new guy came along and was _so_ good at it."

"I don't know if you should be proud or frightened, Tony," Spot spoke up.

Race stared at him for a second, dazed, he'd almost forgotten Spot was there. Marco started to respond, then stopped, and then laughed again. Marco laughed a lot; he was a surprisingly cheerful person. He'd always been Race's favorite at family parties, as he was young enough to actually be _fun_.

"But Dad really... I mean, he _quit_?"

"Tried to."

"Because of _me_?"

"Anthony, almost everything your dad _does_ is for you. 'Cause you know, if you hadn't fucked up so badly with the cocaine, you'd have been in the running to inherit this whole thing."

"_WHAT_?"

"Well, it's kinda hereditary, and your mom is older than my dad, but she couldn't get it because she's a woman and your dad is an outsider. So it would go to her son. But my dad was, well, male, and I'm _his_ son, so... you or me, cuz."

"Oh, Jesus."

"Yeah, you don't have to worry too much, though. The Family is really pretty pissed at you for screwing us on drugs."

"..._great_."

"Hey, don't blame me. _You're_ the addict."

Suddenly, Race liked Marco a lot less.

"Well, it's not _his_ fault you're all a freaking bunch of walking Robert DeNiro's," Spot snapped. Race kicked him and Spot swore. "Ow! I was defending you, fucker!"

"I _like_ you," Marco mused, pointing lazily at Spot. "What's your name?"

"Sean."

Race was about to glare at Spot again for giving his name, but then he remembered his father knew it anyway; it would've gotten around by now.

"Sean..."

Spot gave Race a look and Race shrugged. "Conlon."

"Well, I'll be gunning for them NOT to shoot you off." Marco gave Spot's knee a pat. "Mind you keep that mouth shut. Probably a bit too much to hope for though. _You're_ not a cocaine addict, are you?"

"No."

"Interesting..."

"Don't even _think_ about it," Race snapped.

"Kidding, _Fante_," Marco promised. "So was he one of the guys who was there when you fucked up last weekend?"

"Why do you know about _that_?"

"Oh, I had fun with that." Marco grinned. "Y'know, you wouldn't think Judge Robinson would be so scared of someone half his age."

"What?"

"I'm still too young to really go around shooting people, or so Dad decided; hence me waiting outside with the van when he and Uncle Paulo and Mario went inside to find you. But I do get to help with the intimidation racket. I'm _great_ at that."

"Okaaaaay."

"Robinson owed us a favor and didn't want to do it, I just _convinced_ him, was all."

"Thanks."

"Hey, you paid for it." He considered. "A _lot_. Your dad is gonna go nuts again, I bet you _anything_. Seriously, the fact that someone dared _touch_ you..." He shook his head. "Paperelli is gonna _pay_."

Race swallowed hard, but had to ask. "What... what if my dad... Dies?"

Marco winced. "You've got other people looking out for you, _Fante,"_ he finally said. "Things will be okay. But your dad will pull through. He's too damn stubborn not to."

"But what if--"

_"Fante_, please. It--It happens sometimes, in this business. And I love your dad too and I don't really want to think about it. I mean, hey, if something can happen to _your_ dad that means that something could happen to _mine_ and I couldn't deal with that." He gave Race a wry smile. "So let's just assume for now that Uncle Paulo will be around to throw another screaming fit."

"So..." Race mused as the van drove on. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"You," Marco pointed at Race, _"You_ will be going home and awaiting Uncle Paulo's arrival, so he can chew your head off. Or hug you."

"Pfft."

"Yeah, that probably won't happen," Marco agreed. "And you," he pointed at Spot, "will wait with Racetrack so you can find out what Uncle Paulo is gonna have done to you. Because not many people are pleased about you existing at the moment."

Spot paled.

"Oh you should see your face."

"_Marco_," Race warned, and his cousin grinned.

"Anyway, I'll be in the house when he's doing it, so don't be too scared." He slapped Race's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." Race shrugged. "I'm... not... _bad_. Just..." He looked at Spot, and then at Marco. "He won't--"

"I honestly don't know what'll happen to him," Marco replied. Spot was doing his best to pretend he couldn't hear anything. Race knew how scared he must have been. 

Race was lucky; he was guaranteed to get out of this scott-free...well, as scott-free as his life could get. But Spot wasn't in the Family. His father didn't even _like_ Spot. Spot could be killed off and it wouldn't matter to them.

"Oh, Christ..." Race murmured. "Oh, God. Marco, Dad can't--he _can't_--"

"Tony," Marco said quietly. "I don't want him to; I'm not so squeamish when it comes to random guys in suits getting weighted down and dropped in a river, but when it's someone totally unrelated to us... I mean, I'll ask Dad to talk to Uncle Paulo, but... Hell, the only one in the Family whose word carries less weight than mine is _you_, and given the current situation even you probably have more influence." He kicked Race's leg. "Bastard."

"Hey!"

"...I'll ask. But I don't know what good it'll do. 'Cause... Yeah, people who we can't trust are... You know, bad for us."

"But we _can_ trust him!"

"Sure; _I_ believe that. He seems nice enough." Race didn't even have time to wonder how Spot had managed to make good impression for once in his life before Marco continued, "But somehow, my vague impression and _your_ promise don't seem like they'll be terribly convincing."

"I can keep secrets," Spot said quietly. "I'm fucking _fantastic_ at not talking about things."

"Yeah, sure."

"He is," Race said.

"Sure, but this isn't like your usual middle school, 'guess who has a crush on you' secret, _Fante_. This is our _lives_ and our _safety_ at stake."

"I can keep a goddamn secret," Spot snapped again.

"You'd have to be able to prove that."

"I _can_."

"Yeah?" Marco sounded interested. "How?"

"You know, somehow I'm not that interested in explaining to the most junior member of your family, seeing as how your word has no weight whatsoever." He rolled his eyes. "Just let me _talk_ to someone before they shoot me, okay?"

"I'll see if I can arrange that."

"Thanks," Spot muttered, and rubbed his stomach where he'd been kicked. It still hurt.

"Yeah, you're a little guy," Marco noted, wincing as Spot rubbed his ribs, which were clearly visible in his t-shirt; it was one of his smaller ones, the green Che shirt he'd worn the night Dutchy had OD'd. "Look at you, you're--"

"Leave him alone, he has a temper," Race broke in. "And he doesn't have a leash on today."

Spot kicked him. For some reason, Spot didn't feel too scared at the moment, even though he knew he should have. He didn't see Race's dad killing him off; and if they were going to, he'd make sure it didn't happen. Spot didn't _feel_ like dying, goddamnit, so it wasn't about to happen.

"We're coming up close to your place, Race," Marco commented, looking out the window. "Yaaay, home sweet home."

"Why the fuck do people call you _Racetrack_?" Spot asked Race. Race ducked his head, and then Spot turned to Marco for the answer.

"Marco, _don't_--"

"It's just adorable, really." Marco smiled, exaggerating the fondness in his actions by putting a hand to his chin. Spot chuckled a bit. "It was just some stupid manly outing that Dad and Uncle Paulo and Mario took us to. I was like...fourteen. So Race was four or five, and he was like, the fucking most hilarious little kid in the world, he _rocked_." Marco held up his hand. "He was like...not even up to my knee."

"I was so!"

"_I'M_ telling the story," Marco snapped, then continued. "So these three big mafia men take us out for the day, showing me the ropes and...well, showing Race the ropes too, I guess. And we went to all these secret hit places. Including this horse racing joint down in Chicago. Gorgeous place, and we got in for free, won everything without trying, you get it..."

Race was grumbling. Spot was _fascinated_.

"So, Race falls in love with this place, we went there for every one of his birthdays until he turned... six, I think, when we all moved to New YorkÉ And you'll note, if you find his old stuffed animals in the attic, each of them is named 'Racetrack', in neatly printed marker on their labels. I would know, I wrote it for him."

Spot gave Race a simpery look. "_Racetrack_."

"Fuck you."

Spot started laughing.

"You know, I could just ask them to _please_ kill you," Race muttered.

"Uh huh." Spot was somehow not afraid.

"I _could_."

"But you wouldn't, _Racetrack_."

"Shut! Up!" He could feel that his face was bright red.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Marco said. "That's what it came from, butÉ mobsters have a tendency to give each other nicknames and I think his father was _hoping_ that when Tony got involved with the business, that would be his. Probably he'd work with fixing a numbers racket or something."

"Yeah, so what's your nickname?" Spot asked.

Marco sighed and said nothing. And Race smirked.

"One word, Tony, and I'll hurt you."

"Would I say anything," Race asked innocently, "_Junior_?"

"Yeah, that's one beating coming up."

"Uh huh."

"Hey. I do a _great_ intimidation number."

"Yeah, and I'd believe that if you weren't terrified of Isabella," Race answered.

"Tony, _everyone_ is terrified of Isabella. _She_ should do extortion. She's frightening."

Spot bit back a laugh, as he knew first hand that Marco was right. And Race snorted and added, "And she'd kick your ass for touching me, Junior."

"_You_ don't fucking get to call me that, you're ten years younger than I am!"

"Whatever." Race twisted to glance in the window and recognized his own street. "We're here." And the van pulled to a stop.

"Okaaayyy..." Marco slapped one hand on each of their shoulders. "Here's the thing--Tony." Marco look seriously at Race. "You make sure _he_ keeps his mouth shut."

Spot sneered.

"I'm not kidding, if you want him to live, you make sure he doesn't talk. I'll be downstairs--I'm gonna make Sophie bake me cheese cake."

"Ass," Race spat.

"I _know_." He sat up, looked out the window, and sighed before looking back at the boys. "Good luck, okay?"

He opened the door the van and let out Race and Spot, followed them up to the house. Race glanced back and saw the van already driving off, and then let himself in.

He was greeted by his mother and all three sisters, which was a little overwhelming. There was a lot of thanking god, and a lot of being told how much he was loved, and how worried they were, and almost all of it was in Italian.

Marco cleared his throat loudly.

"What, no love for the incredibly heroic cousin who brought him home?" he demanded.

"I already started the cheesecake, you ass," Sophia answered. Marco laughed and kissed her forehead, then let himself into the house to go eat their food and probably watch television until Paulo came home. Or someone came home with news.

For all he'd be in trouble, Race sincerely hoped it would be his father coming home.

"I'm fine," he assured his family. "Seriously; I'm _fine_. It was Spot who--"

"Sean!" Isabella interrupted, and grabbed Spot's wrist, pulled him in from the doorway. "Please excuse our lack of hospitality, we were pleasantly startled to find out Tony hadn't gotten himself killed."

"I love you too, Izzy."

She ignored him and continued, "Please, come in; make yourself at home. Do you need a doctor?"

"No, I'mÉ fine."

"But hungry," Race added. "I don't know what time it is, but we're both starving."

"Covered," Sophia promised. "Already cooking."

"Thanks."

Isabella wrapped him in another protective hug. "Thank God you're okay," she said again. "Now, where's Dad?"

"Uh..." Race felt a breath catch in his throat. "Dad...is..."

"Going to be fine!" Marco interrupted, his mouth full of left over linguini from the night before, as he stepped back into the hall. "Hey, Race, you and Sean go on upstairs, eh? Uncle Paulo's got some stuff to take care of, he'll be back when he can."

Isabella glared. "_Marco_."

"Veryimportantstuffcan'tbebothered!" Marco said very quickly, then shot his glance to Race. "GO Tony! Run fast, run far!"

Race, deciding to take his cousin's advice, hurried past Spot and snapped at him to hurry up the stairs with him.

"Is your cousin gonna tell them about your dad?" Spot asked, as Race dragged him up the two flights of stairs to his room.

"Probably not with Maria right there," Race answered and made his way into his room. Spot followed, and shut the door behind them; Race leaned past him and locked it.

"I guess I hope he's okay--" Spot started to say, but was interrupted.

Race had just about cracked under the stress, and now safe in his room with neither one of them in danger for the moment, and there was a locking door, he wasn't going to waste another second. He practically threw himself forward at Spot, pinning Spot to the door with his body, and pressing his lips to Spot's.

Spot didn't objected, and a minute later they tumbled onto Race's bed, not separating more than strictly necessary during the intervening space. Race kissed him hungrily, hardly believing he could have gone so long without it and then marveling at how much he felt like he needed it in the first place.

"My dad..." Race panted pulling away from Spot a few seconds as Spot kissed his neck. "My dad, he'll...be okay. Marco said...he would..." He was panting. Trying not to think about it. Because his head was clouded. And he needed Spot.

"It'll be fine," Spot mumbled against his neck, and then they were kissing again.

Everything _had_ to be fine. Spot loved him. He'd discovered his father cared more than he let on, Marco had promised that he'd be alright...

And he believed it.

If he didn't have Spot with him right now, he didn't know how exactly he could cope with anything. Maybe he wouldn't be able to cope at all.

He wondered what that meant, but he didn't have to wonder, really, because he _knew_. He pulled away from Spot and murmured half into the comforter, "You know, I love you too." And he started kissing Spot again before Spot could say anything about it.

Spot pulled away. "What?" he demanded.

"I--I'd be a total nervous wreck right now and probably trying to find a way to get high without you, you make me calm and centered and I'm happiest when I'm with you, and as far as I can tell, that's the same as loving you," Race said quickly. "And--and when that guy had a gun to your head and I couldn't do anything--it was like watching a movie, but _god_, it was _real_ and you might have gotten killed and it would've been my fault and I... I love you. Just believe me, okay?"

"I do," Spot answered. "And I hope your dad's okay. I really do."

"He will be." Race was certain of it. He was certain because he was alive, and because he had Spot with him, and Marco had said so. And Marco had explained to him that for all he and his father couldn't stand each other, his father really _did_ care about him. And he wasn't willing to accept his father's possible death after finally learning that. "He was still conscious when we left, that was a good sign, right?"

"Yeah," Spot agreed, though he had no idea.

"Yeah. He'll be fine."

They stared at each other, both thinking about everything that had been said in the past forty seconds. Race didn't know how to respond, or how to start kissing him again, so he left it up to Spot because oddly enough, Spot _always_ did something.

"This is weird; _I'm_ always on top." Spot wrinkled his nose, and shoved at Race's chest. "You're too fucking short to be the dominant one."

"Shut up." Race rolled his eyes, and kissed Spot again, only this time it was sweet, and he could feel Spot's fingers gently grazing back and forth against the small of his back.

Race slid off of Spot, snuggling more into his shoulder, holding on to him.

There was a very loud, intrusive knock on the door. Race sat bolt upright.

"Yeah, just a sec," he called, and scurried over to the door, unlocked it, checked to make sure Spot was sitting up, and opened it. Isabella stood outside, holding a tray of something that smelled delicious.

"Your sisters love you. Eat up." She paused. "And brush your hair before someone figures out how it got messed up."

Race grinned at her, glad that someone in his family was in on the secret. "Thanks, Izzy." He paused. "Marco told you about--"

"Yeah," she interrupted.

"He'll be fine."

"...Yeah." She shrugged. "When we have word, I'll let you know, _Fante."_

He nodded, and she glanced at him, threw a wave at Spot behind him, and shut the door again. She didn't bother to wait and hear the lock click shut again before walking downstairs to question Marco about what had happened some more.

"Oh my GOD is that fucking lasagna!?" Spot exclaimed as Race set the tray on the desk. "Holy Jesus CHRIST."

"Look, they made plates for BOTH of us." Race said, grinning. "And mine is bigger. _Oh_ they know me so well."

Immediately, they dug in, Race skeptical that Spot would eat the whole thing, but alas, he did, with a ravenous look on his face. Granted, he didn't eat anything _after_ that, while Race continued to eat up the bread and cookies as well.

After, he dug into his desk drawer and pulled out his Skittles stash. "Skittles?" He asked.

"No...thanks..."

"I call it, the Drug-Free Way To Taste a Rainbow." Race gave a cheesy grin and Spot smirked.

"I could use a shower, though," Spot noted, and finally glanced at Race's clock, and gaped for a second. It was almost three in the afternoon. Apparently, they'd been unconscious for a lot longer than he'd thought, and talked for longer as well. Because it hadn't even been six yet when they'd been grabbed.

"Yeah, okay. I'll get you a towel and stuff." Race sat down the bag of Skittles and kissed Spot quickly, his mouth sweet from the sugar, then lead him to the nearest bathroom and dug into an adjoined linen closet. "Don't use up all the hot water; I feel _gross_."

"You could always join me." Spot smirked.

"Yeah, we _both_ wish." Race shot back a grin before leaving Spot to himself, and for the first time that day, having a minute alone to think.

He popped some more Skittles into his mouth, and let the idea of Spot in the shower linger in his head a moment, before moving on to feeling slightly, and stupidly giddy.

He was in _love_.

That had never happened to him before. Ever. He was finally in love, finally knew what it really felt like. And as clichŽ as it sounded, it _was_ like everyone said it was, but sort of not. If someone had told Race months ago he was going to fall in love with Spot Conlon, needless to say, he would not only have been skeptical, but he would have gone off on one of his infamous asshole rants about being straight.

How could one person change so much about everything?

But his thoughts couldn't stay on Spot; he wished they could but... He'd realized he loved Spot because Spot's life had been in danger; Spot's life had been in danger because of him. A week ago, he'd thought he'd finished his job for the family and was done and out of it, but now that clearly had changed.

He didn't like that.

He closed his eyes and saw Caesar's corpse, saw his father take a bullet. He remembered Marco speaking casually about not minding when the other side got killed. He'd been shot at, he'd been locked in a basement, he'd almost died and had nearly gotten his boyfriend _and_ his father killed.

If Maria had to grow up with no father, it was his fault.

If some mobster blew Spot's brains out for knowing too much, it was his fault.

And he really no longer had a choice when it came to involvement; he knew too much, he'd experienced too much, and, as Marco had succinctly put it, the Family hated it when people quit. He was stuck with it.

Maybe with inheriting it.

No, that would be Marco. The option who _wasn't_ addicted to cocaine, and Race had never been glad to be a drug addict before in his _life._

Even though he was still stuck in the Family.

And how the hell was it his mother, not his father, who'd gotten his family involved? And why the hell had his father freaked out at the _family_ when Race had almost died, and not at Race himself? Or rather, not _more_ at Race himself than he did...?

He couldn't think anymore. He popped another skittle into his mouth and collapsed onto his bed, and all of the stress of the day came back in the form of exhaustion.

*

B: At long last, we give you the origins of Race's nickname! I'm sure you're all excited.

F: Well, I wanted to have the whole mafia show down thing go further, because I'm on a HUGE Al Pacino kick. It's unhealthy, and really, mafia!Race is a fabulous type of thing.

B: He really is. But no worries, it's not like the mafia thing doesn't come BACK. As it is, sort of, what the story's about and all...

F: No spoilers. Except for random orgies and a brothel full of scantily clad whores...that's all I can say!!

B: Bwahahahaha. Short chapter this time... Shortest one in awhile. But at least it wasn't a month between updates, right? Of course right. But with the semester starting up and all... You know the drill. Groan.

F: B here says she won't be as available. I'm so depressed I can hardly speak.

B: ...I'm sorry. Stupid semester. If anyone would like to sit in on my American Health Care System class and take notes for me, that would be a help. Come on, it's only two hours long.

F: Also? We're both stressed and I'm currently dealing with lame people. SO I'll vent my anger into fic, because fic = yum

B: It does indeed. So, until next time everyone, stay safe and stay WARM! Damn northeast winters. -shudder-

This chapter celebrated with hot cocoa, to ward off the "negative three degrees, negative twenty-seven with windchill" weather.


	12. My Father The Hero

Everything You've Done Wrong 

Well I'm finding it harder

to be a gentleman every day

all the manners that I've been taught

have slowly died away

but if I held the door open for you

It wouldn't make your day

-The White Stripes, _I'm Finding It Harder To Be A Gentleman_

Chapter 12: My Father The Hero 

The next thing Racetrack knew, Spot was shaking his shoulder to tell him the shower was free.

"You look _gone_," Spot said driftily, sounding equally as exhausted. "You doin' okay?"

"...Been better." Race shrugged, and kissed Spot before walking lazily out the door to the bathroom.

Spot sighed, and shook his head--like a dog--and grabbed the remaining Skittles, pouring them all in his mouth.

Someone knocked on the door, and Spot jumped slightly. "Yeah?" he said, swallowing the Skittles. The door crept open and he saw Maria was the one peering in through the crack. "You can come in, kid."

She shuffled inside, and looked around for Race. "Where's _Tony_?" she asked.

Spot jutted his head towards the direction of the washroom. "Shower. He _stunk_. What'dya need him for?"

Maria blushed. "I didn't get to...it's none of your business!" She stuck her tongue out at him, and crossed her arms. "Izzy says you're a bad ass!"

Spot grinned. "I _am._ You better watch it."

"I could take you!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Spot rolled his eyes; he was never very good with kids. He found them loud and abrasive and annoying. Well, he found Race was loud and abrasive and annoying too, but in a sexy way. Kids were just... _ugh_.

But on the other hand, this was Race's favorite sister. And he wasn't going to suck up to her the way _Jack_ did, but he had to at least play nicely. Because he didn't want to see Race throw a big brother fit, not when he and Race were... Not when they were what they were, which he could barely even think now that they weren't on the brink of death.

"So what's up, kid?"

She shrugged and made herself comfortable in Race's chair. "Something's going on that they won't tell me about. I wanted to ask Tony."

"Yeah?"

"Something with Dad. They think I'm too little to know, but I mean, I _know_ what he does, so..." She trailed off. "But Marco just keeps saying he's at the office but I know he's not because I've heard Izzy ask him to explain again what happened three times and he doesn't know because he wasn't there."

She took a deep breath. "Tony was there. _You_ were there. What happened?"

He hesitated. "Look, kid--"

"My _name_ is _Maria_."

"Maria," he said. "It ain't my business what happened; if Marco and your sister don't--"

"It's _MY_ business!" she yelled back at him angrily. "He's _my_ dad and Tony is _my_ brother and if Dad is dead I want to know about it!"

So apparently, the temper _did_ run in the family. Spot shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't want to get Izzy mad at me," he said.

"She won't get mad."

Spot raised an eyebrow.

"She'll blame me. Or maybe Tony. And it's _always_ fun to watch when she's mad at Tony."

He chuckled. "Look, Maria. Your dad..." He trailed off. "He's not dead."

"Then why won't--"

"He _wasn't_ dead when we got out of there, okay? But he did get shot and no one knows if he'll make it. But you didn't hear it from me."

"Oh," she said quietly, then nodded. "Thank you, Sean."

"Sure, kid. Uh, I hope he's okay."

She nodded, but didn't move. "Um, do you mind if I wait for Tony?" she asked in a quiet voice, sounding very young all of a sudden. "I'd like to see him."

Spot nodded. "Sure thing, kid," he agreed. He sort of understood. She couldn't see her father, but she _could_ see Race, and seeing Race was a reminder that people could get out of such things alive. And probably, Race had some secret big brother way of making everything okay.

She stared at him, looking expectant, and Spot stared right back, not knowing what the hell she was expecting from him, since she made it pretty clear that it was Race she wanted to see and not him.

None the less, she made her way over the bed, and sat down next to him with a defiant 'thump,' looked up at him, her arms folded, the glare almost so forced that it was oddly cute. Spot raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?"

"You're _supposed_ to _comfort_ me!" she insisted.

"I don't do that."

"_Jack_ would," she mumbled.

"Yeah, but you want the inside track Jack?" Spot said. Maria looked skeptical, but nodded her head. "He's scared of heights."

"...really?"

"No kidding, he like, pisses his pants. It's great."

Maria giggled. "I like Gabriel best anyway; he brought _Rosetta_ flowers." She poked Spot. "You're _cute_."

"Thanks. That made my day, really."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"...sort of."

_"Sort_ of?" she demanded, then asked dreamily, "Are you just too shy to ask her out?"

"Uh, yeah. That's it." Spot was relieved the answer was provided for him. If all he had to do was agree, he could probably survive until Race got back from the shower.

"That's so _romantic_," she decided. "You should ask her. How are you going to ask her?"

"Uh." Spot shrugged.

"You _need_ to think of things like that," she insisted. "Sophia would never have gone out with Gabe if he'd just said, 'uh,' a lot."

"Luckily, I don't have a thing for Sophia."

"Well, duh. What I meant was girls in general."

Spot wished she'd go away. But he couldn't actually say that, so he nodded.

"So tell me what she likes and I'll figure out what you should do."

"Uh..." he said again.

"Don't you even _know_ her?" Maria demanded.

Spot wondered where the hell all of this was coming from. Probably, the part of him that had been to too many psychiatrists reasoned, from a need to distract herself from her father's possible death. But why the hell she'd take it out on him and his love life...

"I do know her," Spot said defensively. "It's just, see, I _did_ ask her out."

"Did she say no?"

"Yeah."

"That's so _sad_!"

"Her loss." Spot shrugged again. Maria stared incredulously at him. "What?"

"No _wonder_ she said no! Who wants to go out with someone who acts like a total Zen-freak all the time?" Maria made a monotone faced and shrugged her shoulders before saying "Uh," in a low voice. Spot smirked. "I mean _really_. You have a lot going, you should work with it."

"What, get some cologne, smile a lot and say 'gee _whiz!'_ and she'll go out with me?"

Maria shook her head. "No, then she might think you're gay."

Spot really wanted to laugh right about then. "And we certainly wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Well, not unless you're _trying_ to hit on _boys_, which would just be _gross_."

"Yeah," he said. "Disgusting." He was amused, not offended, he just hoped Race didn't overhear that. He knew Race well enough to know he'd probably feel all upset and guilty about lying to a family that would never understand. Where Spot's reaction was more, if they didn't understand, then fuck 'em all.

"What you need," Maria decided, "is to be nicer to people."

"Yeah, I'll work on that."

"I _mean_ it!" she snapped. "You have an attitude problem."

He shrugged. She was right, after all.

"I thought that was part of my charm," he answered.

"It is definitely not charming. Charming is when a boy brings you flowers!"

"Like Gabe."

"Ex_act_ly. See, you're not hopeless."

"...Yes, he is."

They looked up to see Race in the doorway, hair dripping, with only a towel wrapped around his middle. He apparently hadn't been expecting company other than Spot when he returned to his room.

"Tonnyyyyy!" Maria covered her eyes. "Eeeewwwww, put something _on_!"

"Yeah Tony." Spot let his eyes obviously trail down Race's body. "Put something _on_."

Race smacked his head, and steered Maria out of the room. "I'll tell you when you can come back in, _Carina_," he said.

"Ewewewewew--" She ranted as he shut the door in her face. Race started towards his dresser, and as he pulled out his clothes, finally noticed that Spot was _staring_ at him.

"Do you _mind_?"

"Not at all."

"Close your EYES."

Spot rolled and then closed his eyes lightly. Race let the towel drop before slipping on his boxers. He seemed to forget the horny specimen in the room with him was _Spot_.

"NICE equipment."

Race yelped and pulled his shirt on rapidly. "You ASSHOLE!!"

Spot was actually laughing. "I _so_ lied to you!"

"Asshole!"

"And it was WORTH it!"

Race hissed, "My _little sister_ is _right outside_ you _idiot_!"

"I'm not the one who screamed. Like a girl."

"Shut UP. So what did the baby want?"

"Baby? She's twelve."

"Right, she's only twelve," Race agreed.

"She, uh, wanted to know about your dad."

"And you told her to talk to Izzy or Mom or Marco?"

"No, I told her the truth."

Race glared at him. "Dumbass," he muttered.

"Tony, she knew something was wrong anyway, she's not stupid."

"I'm aware, but she didn't have to know what--" He stopped. "Never mind." He pulled on a clean, non blood spattered shirt, ran a comb through his hair quickly, tossed the towel and dirty clothes in his hamper, and let Maria back in. "_Carina--"_ he started.

"Sean _told_ me," she interrupted. "And Sean is a jerk."

"For telling you?"

"No, for being a jerk."

He nodded. Sometimes, she sounded a lot like Sophia, who sounded a lot like Isabella. Something about his sisters. He sighed. "But he's a _nice_ jerk, mostly."

"How does _that_ work?" she asked.

He shrugged. "He's one of my friends."

"Whatever."

"So, um, about Dad--" he started, and she literally threw herself into his arms, the facade of cheerfulness that lead her to investigate Spot's love life breaking. Race put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "He'll be fine," he murmured comfortingly. "_Fine_."

Spot, feeling very much like he shouldn't be in the room, busied himself with grabbing a drumming magazine from Race's bedside table, and flipping through it. He knew nothing about drumming, but he figured he could scope out the hot drummer boys in the ads.

"What if he doesn't--" Maria was sniffling into his shirt. "What if--"

"He'll be alright, _Carina_." He mumbled into her hair. "I promise, okay? And if he isn't, I'll take care of you." He made eye contact with Spot, and made motions with his head to the door. Spot stared and Race nodded.

Then Spot flipped him off, snorted, and stormed out of the room.

Race sighed, and Maria pulled away a little to look at the door. "He's huffy."

"But _nice_ huffy."

"He's a jerk."

"A _nice_ jerk." He gave her forehead a kiss. "Come on, don't hate him. He's...a good friend of mine."

"I don't hate him," Maria mumbled. "I just hate everything right now."

Race knelt down to look at her. "Don't say that, okay? Because then sooner or later you feel like you mean it and then everything sucks, and you're above that."

"Everything _does_ suck."

"Maria," he said seriously, "when I thought everything sucked, I started with cocaine. I forgot that I had you and Sophie and Izzy, and even mom and dad, and Michael and David. Just because I thought things sucked--it was very selfish of me and I almost ended up dying. I've _still_ got problems because of it. So don't you _dare_ think that, okay?"

She stared at him, and he waited for an answer.

"Tony," she finally said quietly. "It doesn't--it just--_Dad_..."

"I know, _Carina_. But I know Dad will fight to be able to come back to us. I mean, can you imagine him letting go a chance to yell at me?"

"...no," she snuffled.

"Right. So he'll do his best to get back and to be okay."

"What if he's _not_?" she wailed. "What if, what if, what if..." she gulped hard, trying not to sound like a broken record.

"If he's not, then..." Race trailed off. "He's not, but he'll always love you no matter what. He's very proud of you, Maria, and he loves you very much."

Maria hugged him again, and she just cried a little, back and forth between hard sobs and small sniffles. But Race hugged her hard, and held her against him, and hoped to God that his father would come home.

Then, like some sort of ironic God, he heard his mother exclaim loudly down the stairs, "Paulo! What Dear _God_!" Then she started spouting off in Italian.

Maria pulled away from Race and stared at him. Race broke into a smile and so did she and then they hugged again, before Maria pulled away and rushed for the door. She threw it open, saw Spot standing there, cracking his knuckles, and hugged him too. Spot stared down at her, and then at Race, looking totally at sea for what to do, but then Maria let go of him and rushed down the stairs.

"Time to get screamed at," Race said, glanced around, and gave Spot a quick peck on the lips. "C'mon." He nodded towards the staircase and started down, and Spot followed hesitantly.

From the foot of the stair, he could see his father in the doorway. Well, sort of; his father was being mobbed by his sisters and mother, who were once again all thanking God in Italian. Marco was also lurking in the hallway, closer than Race was, but still unobtrusively. Paulo started down the hallway once he'd hugged and kissed each of the women in turn, and stopped to shake hands with Marco.

Race got a good look at him, and suddenly, his father looked _old_. One of his arms was in a sling, probably so he wouldn't be able to move it and thus irritate his shoulder, and his face looked somehow more worn, and his hair looked grayer than normal. At the same time, he looked awful, but so much better than he _should_ have, given he'd been shot. Race shuddered at the thought of it.

His father's eyes fell on him.

"Anthony," his father said quietly, and Race stepped from the last stair into the hallway, over to his father. There was an awkward pause.

Finally, his father held out his hand, the one that _wasn't_ in the sling, and Race shook it. They studied each other. Race actually looked his father in the eye for the first time in what felt like years.

"We have much to discuss," Paulo said quietly, and Race nodded. "But not quite yet. I'd like to have dinner with my family first."

Race half-smiled at that, and Paulo searched out Spot, still on the stairs.

"Mr. Conlon; I see you're joining us for dinner again."

"Yes, sir."

And they let it go without another word. Race wondered if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

Race immediately set towards the kitchen, and Spot looked unsure of what to do. Race grinned an him. "Come on, you can _help_."

"Yeah, yeah." Spot shoved him forward a little, and made a face at Maria. "Dude, _no one_ hugs me," he whispered to her.

"I sure did!" she exclaimed, and jumped up and down. "Daddy's okay!" She hurried off again, also into the kitchen, to jump onto Marco.

"She has some sort of weird mood swing thing going on..." Spot muttered.

"You." Race prodded Spot's chest with his finger. "Are officially the table setter. Go help Maria."

"No WAY--"

"_Yeah_ way."

"He'll just mess it up," Sophia commented, falling into step with them. "You know, which side the fork goes on, where all of the glasses go--"

"I know how to set a fucking table."

"Yeah, but a fucking table with fifteen pieces per setting?"

"_What_?" Spot demanded.

"Oh, God," Race groaned. "_Formal_ dinner. Who's coming? We wouldn't do it for just Marco."

"I think Dad's just freaked out by everything. But maybe Uncle Maurice or Mario."

"Right." Race sighed. "Okay, somewhere we have a chart that explains the formal settings, you can use that..."

"Can't you make Maria do it?" Spot demanded.

"No," Race said, "because unlike you, Maria knows how to cook. We need her in the kitchen." He grinned. "But Dad'll probably only yell a little when you mess it up."

Spot stared at them, and Sophia smiled and pinched his cheek. "But then you'll be part of the family!"

Race snorted as Sophia walked off and Spot glared. "You and your sisters _suck_."

Race paid no heed as if he flipped through the cutlery cabinet, and pulled out a laminated chart. "Here. If you're messing up, call for Maria. I'm busy with bread."

Spot whined.

"That's _real_ attractive," Race said, and slammed the chart into Spot's chest, then walked into the kitchen.

Spot grumbled as he looked at the chart and his eyes almost bulged out of his head. "Oh my fucking _god_." He heard more snickering, and glanced up to see Marco sitting at one of the chairs, grinning. "Why aren't _you_ helping?"

"Because they aren't making me," he answered. "AND I found the frozen pasta that Aunt Angelina has been looking for for _months_ so I'm off the hook. But you..." Marco shook his head. "It's like watching a little dear."

"Seriously, fuck you."

"I wouldn't swear like that with Maria and Sophie around; someone'll hear you and kick your ass."

"I think I've been kicked around quite enough today, thanks."

"Then watch your mouth." Marco grinned.

"So what, you don't have any younger siblings to protect?"

"Only child."

Spot rolled his eyes and began unloading dishes from the china cabinet. He stared at the chart he'd been given, and then at the dishes, and then at the table. He looked kind of dismayed.

Marco rolled his eyes.

Spot began to set the first place.

Marco started laughing.

"Shut _up_."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were laughing your ass off."

"You were looking at the chart upside down; the fact that I didn't start laughing until you put the glass _beneath_ the plate is impressive."

Spot glared at him, but had to admit, the textless chart _did_ make more sense the other way around. "You're so smart, _you_ do it," Spot snapped.

"Oh, no. I had years of doing this, 'cause I can't cook either. I'm just glad you're here; I _still_ can't get half of it right. And Uncle Paulo _still_ yells at me when I mess up."

"_Great_," Spot snorted.

A clang was heard from the kitchen and then sling of furious words in Italian, followed by, "ANTHONY! Do _not_ speak that way!"

Spot grinned.

"You get used to that too," Marco nodded, and then coughed. "Uh, that fork goes on the other side."

"Shut up shut up shut uppp..." Spot muttered, fixing around the forks and glancing at the chart. "It's like a freaking..."

"So, what, are you and Race best friends now? Whatever happened to Michael and David?" 

Spot shrugged as he continued wrongly placing everything on the table. "They're still his best friends."

"What are you?"

"A new additional best friend."

"But you're an asshole. How can Race be friends with someone like _him_?"

Spot looked up. "I thought you two were, like, favorite cousins and all that shit."

"We are." Marco grinned. "We're assholes _together_."

"MARCO, WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE and for the love of God, don't encourage Spot! And I am _not_ a--" pause, "--jerk."

Marco shot Spot a bemused look. "He can hear us from there?" Spot asked. Marco nodded. So he added loudly, "Has he always been like that?" 

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Has he always been such a fuck up?"

"HEY!" came from the kitchen.

Marco laughed. "No, that's more recent. Last few years."

Spot shrugged and went back to trying to figure out which piece of silverware was which on the chart, as compared to the actual, and turned to look at Marco. "Um," Marco said, then paused. "Maria, darling?"

Maria stomped into the dining room, looked at them, and rolled her eyes. "You two," she declared, "are _useless_." She rearranged the one setting Spot had managed to put together, finished with the correct silverware and pointed. "Just copy _that_," she said, muttered something in Italian under her breath, and walked back into the kitchen.

Spot looked at Marco, who shrugged. "You also get used to being ordered around by the twelve year old."

"She _hugged_ me," Spot shuddered. "Mafia aside, this family is _bizarre_."

"I _heard_ that!"

"At least I wasn't swearing!" Spot yelled back. He then looked down at the place setting, and groaned. "God, she made it so professional looking and it was in freaking two seconds."

"That as well." Marco pointed to the table. "You get used to them being abnormally good at abnormal things. Have you heard Race drum?"

Spot gave him a _look_.

"You could just say 'yes' you know."

"How would that be funny?"

Marco chuckled. "I _like_ you."

"Everybody does."

"You're a jerk," Maria supplied, carrying the salad dressing into the room and placing it in the center of the table. "But Tony says you're secretly nice, so all you need to do is work on your attitude and you'll be _fine_."

"Go awaaayy..." Spot whined.

"I _live_ here," she answered, and paused to examine the place setting he'd just finished. "And you still have the forks in the wrong order. Marco, _help_ him." She walked back out.

Marco sighed. "I knew I should have avoiding the dining room if I didn't want to end up doing this." He sadly picked up a plate and began to work.

"So why didn't you?"

"Because it's either this, or get yelled at in the kitchen by the insane siblings, or interfere in my Aunt and Uncle's remembering how much they love each other after Uncle Paulo's near death experience. Given the options, you seemed the least..." He shrugged. "Tony needs some time with his sisters."

"Yeah. They're really close," Spot said, not looking up from his table setting. "That's kinda cool." He paused. "Would it be okay if I called my brother, do you think? 'Cause he's probably worried."

Marco hesitated, then mumbled, "Sorry."

"Why _not_?"

"Because I still don't know what Uncle Paulo is going to do with you and... see, if your brother suspects what's going on because you call him, we might have to kill him too."

"And we're back to me being killed." Spot slammed a wine glass down on the table.

"Don't _break_ it, then you _will_ get killed. By Aunt Angelina, and that would be even more embarrassing."

"Yeah, just..." Spot stopped. "Yeah, whatever. Fine. I won't call."

"Good. Sorry."

"Oh no _problem_, really." Spot gritted his teeth. "I just got in a freaking fight with him before I stormed out of the house in the first place, and so he might think I went and...I dunno, killed myself or something."

"So?" Marco shrugged, finishing up his setting. "That was what? This morning?"

"Last night," Spot said distractedly, peering at his arrangement.

Marco stared. "So where did you stay?"

"Here." Spot caught himself too late. "In the guest bedroom. Tony snuck me in."

Marco raised his eyebrows. "Wow. You and Race _are_ good buddies."

"Yeah."

"So Race was driving you home," Marco reasoned, working it out in his head, "and you were both grabbed instead of just him on his way to school."

"I guess."

"You've got terrible timing."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

Marco shrugged and moved on to the next setting. "I hope no one shoots you," he finally said. "You don't seem like a bad guy."

"I hope no one shoots me, too," Spot answered flatly. "What with the _dying_ and all."

"Hey; if your brother thinks you killed yourself, that makes our job easier."

"Gee. I'm so fucking _relieved_ for you. I was afraid you'd have to _work_ to cover up my death."

Marco ducked his head a little. "Not _my_ fault," he said. "I just do what I'm told."

"Yeah? So did the Nazis." Spot smirked.

"We're not Nazis, we're Fascists," Marco shot back. "Italian, not German, 'member?"

Spot started to answer, but people suddenly began to yell in Italian in the kitchen.

"...Like I could _forget_," he said instead. "What was that?"

"Apparently, Race just threw something at Sophie, so she decided to destroy his bread."

"Ooooookay."

"Yeah; they're nuts. There's a reason I avoid the kitchen as much as possible."

Spot nodded his agreement as there was more screaming in Italian from the kitchen. Marco sighed and shook his head, amused, and they went back to the table. When they finished, it didn't look half bad, far more elegant than any table Spot had eaten at before. Marco told him where to find a centerpiece for it, and they stood back and admired their job.

Until Maria walked back in with a pitcher of ice water for the table, and rolled her eyes. "Salad fork, entree fork," she said, reversing the two on one of the settings. "Are you two _stupid_? Not one place is right!"

"That is _really_ annoying," Spot muttered as soon as she was gone again.

"Yeah, a bit."

Race appeared from the kitchen, and Spot smirked over at him. He was very nearly coated in baking ingredients, and the smear of sugar on his neck was just _so_ damn tempting... Spot fought back the urge to grab Race and lick him clean. "So, Maria says you're useless and Mama's kicked me out of the kitchen until my bread needs to be checked, because Sophia can't behave herself." He rolled his eyes. "So now I get to help, too."

Marco cracked up. "So, Sophia kicked your ass, cuz?"

"She did _not_."

"Uh huh."

"She didn't! She cheats." Race wiped some flour off of his face, but his hands were also coated and really, he just made it worse. "Mama says we were wasting things."

"You probably were."

"_She_ started it," Race swatted his hands, trying to make the flour go away. "Auuggghh, there's no end to it!"

"Go wash your _hands_, Dennis The Menace." Spot grinned, his arms folded. Race made a face at him.

"Thanks for the advice, Huckleberry Finn."

"Any time, Little Boy Blue."

"I appreciate it, Pollyanna."

Marco grinned. "Race, cuz, you _so_ won!" Race and him slapped hands. Marco paused and looked at his hand, which was now lightly sprinkled with flour, then ruffled Race's hair to wipe it off.

"HEY!"

Spot started laughing, and Race huffily made his way out of the room.

"I like you," Marco told Spot again. "Tony doesn't have a lot of close friends. He needs someone to keep him humble."

"Like anyone could do that," Spot answered.

"He's not _so_ bad," Marco said. "He's... Well, _look_ at this family. You can see why he'd be a little maladjusted, right? So I'm just saying, I'm glad he's got someone who can handle all of this insanity to hang out with." He paused. "You'll make sure he stays the hell away from cocaine, right? 'Cause with everything that happened today, we won't have enough people to follow him _all_ the time."

Spot clicked his nails on the table, and let his face go slightly serious. "He won't be fucking touching it. Believe me, I only saw it once and that was enough."

Marco nodded, and watched the spot where Race had walked off. "He's a good kid. I love him, really. We all thought he was fucked over when it happened, y'know?" He turned to Spot. "It's weird that you aren't into that shit."

"Oh _thanks_."

"_You're_ the one with the trash talk and the nicotine addiction."

Spot grinned. "I have 'fuck you' shirts too."

"See? You're also a smartass."

"I thought you _liked_ me."

"I do like you," Marco answered. "If I didn't, I'd probably have shot you by now. Dwell on _that_ for awhile."

Spot started to answer, then stopped. "That's real fucking creepy, 'cause you actually could."

"My point." He paused. "You know, I can't believe Uncle Paulo lets Tony hang out with you."

"I'm his teenage rebellion."

"I thought that was the cocaine."

"Considering you _sell_ that shit, I don't think it counts," Spot shot back.

"Hey, I don't do it _personally_," Marco answered. "And no one in our Family touches the stuff anymore, anyway."

"Only because Tony almost died."

"...Yeah." Marco actually sounded like he felt guilty about that.

"Well, to be fair," Spot shrugged, "he did it on his own; not because you guys sold it."

Marco didn't get a chance to do anything but look oddly touched, because Mrs. Higgins burst in with a plate of food in her hands.

"Sean!" she exclaimed, and Spot jumped. "You take this and set it down, I have to rush back in and get the sauce; just right there, dear."

Spot didn't know which was more freaky; the fact she trusted him with the plate or the fact she called him _dear_.

"Uh." Spot quickly put the oven mitts Maria was shoving at him and grabbed the plate. "Sure."

"There you go with the 'uh's again," Maria snapped, then lowered her voice. "'Uh, uh'."

"'Look at me, I'm annoying!'" Spot shot back in a high pitched voice.

Sophia snorted.

"Race filled his quota of smart friends with David, I see," she said.

"You insulting your boyfriend?" Spot asked back, as he placed the plate on the table.

"_No_!" Sophia half-shrieked.

"Well, then." Spot smirked and took off the oven mitts, tossed them back at Maria.

"Who's she dating?" Marco asked, and turned to Sophia. "_Who_ is this?"

"Marco, don't _you_ get all idiotic about it," she snapped back. "I already went through that with Tony."

"Yeah, but two heads are better than one. So talk to me."

"No, I don't think I will." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked back into the kitchen.

Maria looked after her, hesitated for a second, then confided, "We all _like_ Gabriel, except Daddy," and followed her out.

Race reappeared. "You're letting Sophia date someone?" Marco asked him, incredulously. "_Seriously_?"

"He's one of my friends," Race answered. "Better she date him than some creep I don't know."

"Better she date no one at all and join a convent!"

Race smiled wildly. "I said the _exact_ same thing."

"As you should have."

"Don't worry--I'll keep them from having sex if it kills me."

"Hell, why not more than sex? I say they don't kiss."

"How?"

"We can try and put papayas in her dinner because she's allergic."

"And then her lips'll swell up like they did last Easter!"

"_Brilliant_!"

Spot was giving them both odd looks and finally decided to leave the two conniving, protective freaks alone and go watch people in the kitchen. "Your family is weird," he noted to no one in particular.

Isabella looked up from the meal she was cooking with her mother. "What tipped you off?"

"Tony and Marco planning various ways to foil Sophia's dating life."

"WHAT?" Sophia dropped what she was doing and stomped back into the dining room. A minute of yelling in Italian followed, with a few stuttered interruptions from Race and Marco. She returned, annoyed, and went back to work.

"Sean, you TOLD on us!" Marco called. "Jerk!"

"You are SO dead!" Race added.

"Um, can I hide in here for awhile?" he asked Mrs. Higgins, who smiled cheerfully and nodded.

"Just don't get in the way," Sophia snapped. "And hand me the confectionary sugar; it's in the cabinet next to you."

He did as she asked.

"Do you cook, Sean?" Mrs. Higgins asked curiously.

"I can, like, heat up fishsticks. That's about it," he answered.

"Ah, a shame. We'll have to teach you some time. We _tried_ to teach Junior, but he, uh..."

"Is incompetent," Isabella interjected.

Spot snickered at that.

"Here, you get the honor of taking out Tony's bread." Sophia smiled. She seemed to be favoring him since he told on Marco and Race. "Here, take the paddle."

Spot stared at it. "A paddle?"

"A paddle."

"For _bread_."

"Just _take_ it!" Sophia handed it to him, and he shrugged. Sophia looked at the counter, where she had a strawberry sauce waiting to be sweetened. "Oh, uhm... Izzy?"

"Cooking."

"Maria?"

"Salad! _Duh_!"

"Oh, damn," Sophia muttered. "Mama, help Sean."

_"Si."_ Mrs. Higgins left the stove to Isabella, and walked over to Spot. Who suddenly felt really nervous. After all, this was his boyfriends' mother. He somehow felt uncharacteristically well-behaved.

_Stupid Tony and his stupid making me love him..._ Spot thought spitefully. But not _too_ spitefully, because despite himself, he was smiling. Mrs. Higgins watched over his shoulder, gave him clear instructions, and just as he was depositing the bread on the counter, Race yelled from the doorway, "You LET HIM touch my BREAD?"

Sophia grinned nastily. "That's what you get for pissing me off."

"Ught, he'd better not have messed it up."

"Way to trust me, _Racetrack_."

"Don't _you_ start calling me that."

"Raaaaaaacetrack," Sophia sang, and Race began to inspect his bread.

"You didn't damage it," he declared. "Luckily."

"Of course not," Spot answered smugly.

"He did a lovely job, dear," Mrs. Higgins answered. "You really should trust him more."

"Or be less defensive about your freaking _bread_," Sophia answered.

"Says the girl who forgot to put sugar in the cake two nights ago."

"Shut _up_!"

Spot stared almost helplessly at the bread, and glanced down at Mrs. Higgins (who was shorter than Tony was; if possible). "Uh?"

"The table, dear," she said distractedly, rushing back and forth in the kitchen. "Put it on this...and then..." She flipped the bread onto a fancy, wood carved board and handed it to him. "Go on! Anthony, would you bring in the salad? Maria has to clean up the floor, she's spilling the olive oil."

Maria looked confused until she glanced down and squealed, because she indeed _was_ spilling the olive oil.

"Hah." Spot shoved her with his elbow as he walked by and Maria growled at him as Race patted her head and handed her a cloth before taking the salad and following Spot into the dining room.

Spot set the bread on the table and then grinned at Race. "Look. I didn't fuck up."

Race pinched his cheek. "Look how much he's grown, Marco!"

"Yeah; and _you've_ been relegated back to salads. I'm surprised you're not throwing a fit, _Fante."_

"Shut _up_," Race sulked. "It's only because Maria is cleaning."

"...Otherwise, you'd be useless, now that we've got Sean around," Isabella added, bringing one of the main dishes into the dining room. She gave Spot a smile. "Welcome to the family."

He stared at her for a second. Because when she said that... She _knew_. And that was like... It was like when Race let Itey take out Sophia, it actually meant he'd won her approval not just as someone for Race to occasionally hang out with, but to _date_.

Wow.

"Thanks," he said sheepishly, and glanced at Race, who was also grinning.

"Marco, please let Uncle Paulo know that dinner will be served in a few minutes. Tony, go change your shirt, you're still covered in _everything_. Sean..." She shrugged. "Have a seat."

Spot let a close-as-Spot-gets-in-public smile cross his face as he nodded at Isabella. "Yeah, thanks."

As everyone was hustling by to get to seats and set down dishes, Race brushed behind him and mumbled "Be back in a sec, ok?" and let his hand touch Spot's back. Spot glanced up, but no one had seen but Izzy, who shot them a warning look.

Spot let out a slight, nervous sigh (not loudly, of course) and found that he was seated in between Race and Maria.

One out of two wasn't so bad.

Race was the last one to find his place, and he was now wearing a cleaner, plain blue shirt which was just tight enough to, well, attract Spot's attention. Spot forced himself not to look _too_ much, though. Because he didn't want to have to deal with Race's dad.

And because Izzy would yell at him.

Sophia, Izzy and Marco were seated on the opposite side of the table, with Race's parents on either end. Marco looked vaguely confused when no one started eating immediately, and even more confused when he saw the looks being exchanged between Spot and Mr. Higgins.

He was about to ask what was going on, when Mr. Higgins requested calmly, "Marco, say grace please." Which was fine, but didn't explain why he was smirking, or why Spot looked vaguely uncomfortable. He didn't _dare_ ask that, though; aside from being rude, he also had to say grace, which he did quickly and quietly, and after the round of "Amens," was relieved when everyone _did_ begin to eat.

Spot, for the life of him, was making sure he ate this time. It didn't help that he'd had lasagna upstairs two hours earlier, but he was going to make sure his appetite was _not_ going to be brought up at the table again.

"You're eating this time," Maria said casually. Spot stopped chewing, shrugged, and then kicked her sharply under the table.

But no one said anything else, because really, it wasn't too important considering what this dinner actually was and what had happened that day. He let his foot find another use then, which was to slide up Race's leg.

He saw Race's shoulders twitch slightly and then soon they were having a nice bout of footsie going on.

"Cuz," Marco said, nodding at Race with a grin. "Your cooking is getting better. Best damned bread in the city."

"Damn right!" Race bit into his own piece and Marco did the same; like some sort of odd male ritual.

Spot shot a glance at Mr. Higgins, who was eating contentedly, then paused to glance at his family. And he smiled. He actually _smiled_ at seeing them gathered together, enjoying each other's company.

He stopped smiling when his gaze came to rest on Spot. A chill ran up Spot's spine as he remembered that even _if_ Race loved him, and Isabella approved of him, and the other girls didn't seem to mind him, and Marco actually liked him, he was _still_ facing a possible looming death. He was still an outsider who'd seen too much, and he was still _poor_.

Spot was still glad Mr. Higgins hadn't been killed, but incredibly resentful. Marco had _said_ that Paulo had faced disapproval from his wife's family for being poor; how _dare_ he look down on Spot? And of the two of them, Spot thought righteously, _he_ was the one who didn't kill people for a _living_. Mr. Higgins had _no_ reason to disapprove of him.

But that didn't matter, because Mr. Higgins disapproved of him anyway, and had the power of life or death over him, quite literally. He stabbed his fork at his salad angrily. It wasn't fucking _fair_.

"Daddy," Isabella suddenly spoke up. Spot glanced at her; he knew Isabella's angle. She looked out for Race, always, and that suddenly included looking out for him too. "Daddy, considering the _day_ that he's had, shouldn't Sean just stay with us tonight?"

Mr. Higgins seemed to twitch a little. "Marco is in the guest bedroom, and the other two are being renovated."

"So? He can sleep on Tony's floor."

Spot doubted this was Isabella trying to let them have a romantic night alone; from what he could see, the longer he was allowed to stay in this house, the better the chance of Mr. Higgins _not_ having him killed.

"We do _not_ put guests on the _floor_, Isabella," Mrs. Higgins scolded. "The couch in the rec room ought to be large enough; we can make it up easily enough after dinner."

"Thank you," Spot said sincerely, and managed not to smirk at Mr. Higgins as he added, "I wouldn't want to be a bother, though."

"No bother," Marco said cheerfully. "I can't cook, but I can make up a bed, so don't worry. 'Specially since _I_ get the guest room." He shot a look at his uncle, who glared back ever so slightly, but said nothing. His wife had made the decision before he could shoot it down.

Race wrapped one of his legs around one of Spot's under the table.

"Of course," Mr. Higgins finally said calmly. "And will anyone be looking for you, Sean? You've been gone all day; surely someone would have noticed you were missing at school."

Spot tapped his fingers against the table. "Well, uh, my brother would have," he said finally. "And I guess his mom."

"_His_ mother?"

"Dad," Race interrupted. "C'mon, wait until _after_ dinner, okay? We all had a really long day and..." he trailed off, then shrugged. "We shouldn't argue tonight."

"Tony is right, dear," Mrs. Higgins agreed. "We truly _should_ be grateful that we're all here tonight."

Mr. Higgins paused and then grunted and went back to his food. It didn't seem like much to Spot, but Sophia and Mrs. Higgins beamed, and Maria even stopped looking so huffy and pre-teen-esque to smile at Spot in a friendly way.

Spot sighed, and continued forcing food...and letting his toes trail on Race's foot. Under the table, Race's hand quickly grasped his thigh, and then was back to holding Race's cup as he drank some water.

The rest of the dinner actually passed without any major mishaps, and Spot, Race and Marco were selected to clear away the dishes. Marco was quickly reseated at the table after dropping and breaking four plates; Spot supposed it was things like that which lead Isabella to describe him as incompetent. Somehow, Spot had never thought that someone in the freaking Mafia could actually be clumsy. But then, he also had always thought he'd never get to meet someone in the Mafia to ask, so he supposed it wasn't that odd.

"I really want you," Spot murmured in Race's ear as they deposited plates in the sink.

"Yeah, back at you," Race answered quietly.

"I really hope no one kills me in my sleep," Spot added.

"Me, too," Race agreed, then, "Spot, no matter what--I meant what I said earlier, okay?"

"What that you said earlier?" Spot asked.

"You _know_ what."

"Yes, I do. And, uh, thanks." He turned back towards the door that lead to the dining room. "And I meant it too," he hissed as they walked out to get the next load of dishes.

Race smiled brilliantly and could feel his face go red as he picked up Sophia's dish, and didn't notice the funny look she was sending him until she prodded his stomach with her finger.

"Ow--geeze, don't do that when I'm carrying _dishes_, you brat--"

"You have to tell me what's going on," she hissed.

Dread formed in the pit of Race's stomach. He knelt down slightly. "W-what are you talking about?"

"Have you met a girl?" Sophia asked, smiling giddily. "You've been acting so funny ever since your band concert, have you met someone? Oh, and _please_ don't say it's Tracy, she is _such_ a whore."

Race let out a sigh of relief.

"I'll talk to you later, _Rosetta_." He stood and walked back towards the kitchen, watching Spot's ass as he did so.

He was lucky that Isabella was the only one in the house who could put two and two together about something like this. Isabella was scary like that.

Finally, several dishes (and whispered sexual comments from Spot) later, and leftovers stacked in the fridge, Mrs. Higgins grabbed Spot by the arm and led him to the 'den', she said, to show him where he'd be sleeping.

Then Race saw Marco and his father giving him the eye and he knew they'd be talking to him before they talked to Spot. He'd thought they'd at least wait until after desert, but apparently not. Because his father stood and said quietly, "The office, Racetrack. _Now_, please." Which wasn't a request, it was an order, and Race obeyed nervously. He took the chair he'd sat in the last time, his father was, of course, behind the desk, and Marco sat on a couch off to the side.

"Let's start at the _very_ beginning. What in God's name was Sean doing in your car at quarter of six in the morning?" Mr. Higgins demanded. He didn't even sound angry, just... Detached. Which wasn't surprising, because this had become Business, not Life. And there was a difference.

"Well, uh..." Race trailed off. "He had a fight with his brother last night and just sort of showed up here around one, and I couldn't _not_ let him stay. I didn't want to wake you or Mom, so.." he shrugged. "I figured it would be easier to just sort of sneak him out than explain everything that early in the morning."

"Why would he come to _you_?"

Race had expected that and, for a change, wasn't off guard. "All of his other friends were Jack's--his brother's--friends _first_ and he felt too uncomfortable imposing on them; like he was asking them to take sides or something. But I'm better friends with him than with Jack, so...."

"I see." His father considered. "What I don't understand is why you felt the need to lie to me about picking up you _other_ friend."

_Because you're a judgmental bastard about some things_, Race thought. Aloud, he explained, "Sean didn't want me to bother you about it, sir."

Mr. Higgins thumped his hand on the desk--not hard, but more like a gesture of 'well, NOW look what you've done.' "Well, Sean _is_ involved now. They know who he is, they'll track him down, because he knows too much and saw everything."

"Uncle--" Marco started but Race cut in.

"I swear to God, Dad, he won't tell a _word_. You...can't let anything happen to him, okay? You..." Race cleared his throat, hoping to hide how hard it was to talk suddenly. "You just _can't_."

Marco and his father watched him, and Race knew he was making things difficult; he had an eerie suspicion that they were hoping Spot was nothing really to Race. Like no one would miss Spot too much if he was killed off.

With that in mind, Race hoped Jack was beside himself with worry, but that was probably too much to hope for anyhow. Everything was at the moment.

"Anthony--"

"Dad!" he interrupted. "Spot came to me last night because he _trusts_ me, and then he got involved with this because of it, and, and that makes _me_ kind of responsible, doesn't it? How can I let something happen to him if he _trusts_ me?" He wasn't sure he was making much sense, but figured the point probably got across.

"I understand that, Anthony, and I understand that you're worried about your friend. But please understand, _I_ am worried about _you_, and about us--all of us, Tony. Having an outsider involved is dangerous, extremely so. Those were powerful people who kidnapped you today; if they know who Sean is, he could also be in danger."

"So what, it's better to kill him now?" Race demanded. "Because I know you're not talking about anything else, Dad. I _know_--he knows, too, and he _still_ trusts me. You _can't_ hurt him, you just can't."

"I may have to. I don't want to, _please_ believe that." He saw the skeptical look his son was giving him and he sighed. "Just because I don't care for the boy doesn't mean I want him _dead_, Tony, and he had nothing to do with this. But he does now, and I can't just assume he's trustworthy."

"Then talk to him," Race insisted, and jumped on his father's next phrase. "Just _do_ it!"

"Anthony, I will no-"

"Come on, Uncle Paulo," Marco said, looking at his hands. "Cut Racetrack some slack, Sean's a good kid. Talk to him." Mr. Higgins shot a glare at his nephew. "Please. Sir."

Mr. Higgins turned his gaze back on his son again, and Race sat up straighter in his seat.

"Please, Dad."

Silence.

"_Please_, Dad."

"If I talk to him, what is he going to say that'll convince me?" his father asked. "Because Tony, regardless of if I talk to him or like him or not--this is not, ultimately, _my_ decision; I may have to convince... Other people."

"You should talk to him, not me," Race said, but had the feeling he'd won. "But Sean, uh... He didn't have it so great growing up, and it definitely taught him how to keep his mouth shut. I'd explain it more, but I can't really, because he won't even tell _me_ and he trusts me."

"A bad childhood is not--"

"_His_ is. Please, Dad."

There was a short pause, and finally Mr. Higgins nodded. "I'll speak with him, but make no promises about anything else."

"Dad--"

"Anthony, that is _enough_ about Sean. I need to discuss what happened today with you; this could take quite awhile. Marco, you're welcome to leave."

"Uncle Paulo--" he stopped short, then nodded at the look he was getting. "I'll be downstairs playing video games with Izzy if you need me."

"You're _how_ old again?" Race asked Marco as he left the room. "How long has Marco been involved in everything?" he added after the door was shut.

"Twelve years."

"Twelve? But then..." he frowned. "He's been involved since he was _fifteen_!"

"Yes, Tony; not everyone spends that year of their life feeding a cocaine habit."

"I just didn't realize."

"You weren't supposed to."

"But he went off to _college_--"

"Of course he did."

"But--"

"Tony, the subject at hand, please. I'd like you to describe everything that happened today for me, starting with the kidnapping itself. I'm going to interrupt you a lot; let me know if you need a drink or a cough drop."

"Am I going to be talking _that_ much?"

"Yes. Start at the beginning please."

It was odd, Race thought in the back of his mind as he described getting gas and Skittles, how calm his father was. He was polite and detached, as though it wasn't his son in question, and his calm front only flickered when Race first mentioned Caesar and Paperelli. He interrupted more often than Race had expected, pressing for more details and repeating almost everything, and it was a good hour before Race got to the point when his father entered the room.

His voice was, indeed, tired.

"We'll take a break," his father finally declared, then added quietly, almost embarrassed, "None of this should have happened, Anthony, and I'm sorry. I failed you today, but it will never, ever happen again. And I _assure_ you, Paperelli will regret this day for the rest of his life. Which is getting closer to ending by the moment."

Race wasn't sure if he found that comforting or terrifying. Race didn't if know his father even _cared_. And it didn't feel like this was caring, just... fierce possessiveness. Like his father was only angry because someone had taken some of his property. Not because Race was his son...

So Race didn't look at his father as the two left the room. He pathetically hung his head because he just couldn't have a moment with his father--a meaningful one--without suspecting there was some sort of angle behind it. Because there was an angle behind everything else.

Or maybe he was the _only_ angle. He didn't know.

As he slumped down the stairs, he saw Isabella and Marco playing a furious game of Mario Brothers on the N64 in the second Rumpus Room (the main one was downstairs) and made eye contact with his sister. Without looking up, she said, "He's still downstairs, Mom's having a moment."

"Ah." Race nodded. His mother's 'moments' usually consisted of an overdose of... motherly. With that in mind, Race was quite positive that Spot was contemplating suicide.

"Fifteen minutes, Racetrack," his father said sharply and but still under his breath.

Without thinking, Race snapped back, "Twenty," and went on down the stairs without looking back to see his father's reaction.

He heard his mother's voice before he was even downstairs, and he had to smirk.

"Would you like the GREEN pillow cases, or the MAGENTA pillow cases?"

"You know, I really don't--"

"Oh _green_, it'll go with your eyes, LOOK at those eyes, aren't you _handsome_?"

He could picture Spot looking torn between agreeing and running away. Race waited a few moments by the door, trailing his finger down the glass frame of an autographed Rancid poster he'd hung downstairs. He wanted to hear his boyfriend squirm around his mother.

Which Race was sure wasn't very nice, or normal, but at least he got his kicks.

"Now, do you want three comforters or two?"

Spot, in a voice that screamed 'don't be RIDICULOUS' responded, "Three, Mrs. Higgins, come on."

"Oh, of course, silly me," she said cheerfully. Race tried not to burst out laughing; apparently the concepts of irony and sarcasm were ones his mother still hadn't absorbed. Which he already knew from experience, but the look on Spot's face as he realized it was fabulous.

Deciding Spot had suffered enough, he let himself into the room, kissed his mother's cheek, and grinned at Spot. "And how are things going, Tony?" his mother asked, which was a surprisingly direct question, especially given Spot's presence. But he'd never heard his mother ask anything about his father's work, ever.

"Uh," he said, his voice slightly scratchy from an hour of talking, "you'd have to ask Dad, I guess."

"I see." She nodded, and then glanced up at the linen closet. "Tony, dear, could you possibly get down a few pillows? I can't quite reach them."

He reached up to get them, discovered he was too short, and sighed. Spot stood up from the couch where he'd probably been forced to sit and chat with Mrs. Higgins, but she shot him a look. "We do not ask guests to get their own linens, Sean. Sit down."

Spot sat.

"So, I'll go get a stool, then?" Race sighed.

"Jump," Spot said grinning. "Come on, Tony, _jump_."

"I--"

"Oh, well, it's a way to get them down isn't it?" Mrs. Higgins observed the linen thoughtfully. "Well, mind you don't knock anything over."

"Mom, I am _not_--"

"Go ahead, dear. Jump away."

Race was quite positive he'd never hear his mother say 'Jump away' in his life ever again. However, hearing Spot say it made the word 'jump' seem kind of sexual, which was maybe why Race tried to forget the fact Mrs. Higgins had said it at all.

He must have been making a funny face because his mother whapped him on the back of the head. "_Ouch_. Mo-_om."_

"Stop daydreaming and get the pillows."

"I wasn't _daydreaming_..." Race grumbled, staring up at the closet shelf. Really, if he could just get his hand over the edge of the shelf, it wouldn't be too hard to get the pillows down; he could grab the bottom one and the rest would follow. He could probably manage it in a single jump.

He shot Spot a look which was a clear reminder of how much Spot had BETTER appreciate this, and jumped. Which had both good and bad results; the good being that the pillows came down, the bad being that they also landed directly on his head. He was sure that it must have been a brilliant moment to people not experiencing it from underneath, as they toppled one at a time and all managed to land on him and then slide to the ground in a pile.

His mother chuckled, and Spot started laughing uncontrollably. And more laughter drifted down the stairs; Marco and Isabella were looking down into the room, now, too.

"What?" he demanded of them, irritably.

"Marco got tired of getting his ass whooped. You wanna play, Sean?" she offered.

"You did not whoop my ass," Marco answered huffily.

"Marco, language," Mrs. Higgins scolded.

"Sure, don't correct _her_," he sulked.

"She hates you is all," Isabella said, and then smirked at Spot. "You in?"

Spot look about to answer, and then him and Race caught eyes and Spot's expression changed. "Nah, I'm gonna stick around and watch Tony pull another stupid."

"What else was I supposed to _do?"_ Race snapped.

"Sounds good," Isabella replied, ignoring her brother. "Come on, Marco, let's see if you can do anything at all with Tetris or something."

"Shut _up_ you antichrist..."

"_Marco_," Mrs. Higgins warned, and Marco made an astonished face.

"Come on, she starts EVERYTHING."

"Welcome to my world," Race said cheerfully. 

"Man, how you can live with these people is beyond me..."

"Well, at least he actually LIVES here, instead of just coming over to eat our food and take advantage of our hospitality," Isabella answered and shoved Marco back towards the stairs.

"I do _not_..." Marco started to grumble, but that was a lie; he did, actually, invite himself over a lot. He'd gotten in the habit during college when they provided him with free home cooked meals, and Mrs. Higgins would cheerfully run his laundry; since then, the guest room he always used had actually come to be referred to as 'Marco's room.' Not that they really minded, though; Marco was fun to have around. Listening to him and Isabella bicker was priceless.

"Mama," Isabella called back from the top of the stairs, "could you come help me pack to go back to school tomorrow? Tony can finish making up Sean's bed."

She hesitated, then agreed and followed them out. Which left Spot and Race alone, at least for a few minutes. Spot looked relieved, though Race imagined that was more because Race's mother was leaving him alone for a few minutes than that he was with Race.

Though judging by the almost hungry look on his face, he liked that second part, too.

"Spot, we don't have any time to--"

Then Spot grabbed his collar and bit into his neck, pulling Race down on to the couch. Race yelped as Spot started to live up to his name...

"Hey, d-don't--" Race bit his lip. "Come on, someone'll be down any second, would you cut-OW." He stared slightly wide eyed at Spot. "That _hurt_."

Spot shoved him harshly onto the mattress and resumed sucking at the hollow between Race's neck and shoulder. Race was having a hard time trying to convince him to stop, and he couldn't help but wonder for a few seconds how a Spot actually _biting_ him, painfully, could possibly be a turn on.

"Tonyy-yy!"

Race jumped at the sound of his mother's voice on the top of the stairs. He pushed at Spot, who didn't budge. In fact, he started groping, all the while still nipping at Race's now slightly exposed shoulder. Because Spot was stretching the collar and most likely ruining the damned thing.

"Yea-ah?" Race called, arching his back.

"Make sure you're using clean sheets, we don't want our guest sleeping on anything dirty!"

"Who says?..." Spot purred into his neck. Race finally succeeded in pushing Spot away for a few moments to answer his mother.

"Yeah, I got it covered!" Race managed to yelp up the stairs.

Spot tugged further at the collar of his shirt. "Not for long."

"Would you _please_ cut it out? Or else I'll give in and I won't be able to freaking stop and now is not the time--SPOT."

"What happened to, 'I'm so going to jump you as soon as we get out'?" Spot breathed into his neck, one hand groping under Race's shirt, and grinding his pelvis against Race's.

"Well," Race said, and tried to not thrust back towards Spot, which was _quite_ an exercise in will power, "my parents, my sisters, and my cousin. Sto-ooooop thaaaaat..."

"You like it," Spot smirked.

"Yes, I do," Race groaned. "But I have to go talk to my dad some more and I don't want to walk in there with a fucking hard on."

"So, I'll take care of it," Spot murmured, and started to unbutton Race's pants, but Race grabbed his wrists.

"Spot, we _can't_. I..." He looked into his boyfriends face, still feeling the hot spots on his neck where Spot's mouth had been. "Fuck, this is an actual _serious_ thing going on, and all you wanna do is mack?"

"Do you want the hard on taken care of or not?"

"..."

"_Do _you?"

"We'll go to the bathroom."

"HAH."

There was a bathroom on the basement level, just off of the rec room where Spot was staying, so they didn't even have to go upstairs. Still, though, Race was insanely nervous as he shut and locked the door, but all thoughts of nerves and--well, everything, really--flew out of his mind a moment later.

Spot was fairly abrupt. He half-shoved Race against the wall, unbuckled his belt, and just _grabbed_. Race gasped in a deep breath, startled as much as he was pleased, and his hands groped towards the towel rack behind the door. He grabbed a washcloth and ended up biting into it as Spot got busy; it was about the only way he could think of to make _sure_ he wasn't groaning aloud.

Things didn't take too long. Spot was quite talented and Race had been extremely turned on and by the time he was pulling his pants up again, he wondered why he had objected to begin with.

"Spot, you want...?" he asked, glancing down below Spot's belt.

"You gotta go talk to your dad, right? Convince him not to shoot me." Spot kissed him hard for a minute. "I can get myself off while you do that."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Man, you should see the look on your face..."

"Proud of yourself much?"

"_Shouldn't_ I be?"

"...yeah." Race opened the door and glanced around, then decided the coast was clear and stepped out.

Isabella was waiting around the corner. "And what was _that_, _Fante?"_ she demanded.

"I was just making sure Spot had a set of towels," he answered with a grin.

Isabella was about to retort until the sound of Paulo Higgins' voice traveled down the staircase. "Racetrack." Race shot a look at Isabella--a nervous one. She shrugged. "It's time to come back upstairs.

"Jesus," Race muttered. "Okay, uh...don't go in the bathroom."

Isabella made a face as Race turned and hurried up the stairs. Meanwhile, Isabella resumed making up Spot's bed (she knew full well neither of them was actually doing anything her mother had asked while they'd been alone) and soon Spot emerged from the bathroom, looking very pleased with himself.

"You know, there's a clinic for people like you," Isabella said. "Something about being addicted to sex?"

"Yeah, well, you might want to wash those towels."

Isabella retched as Spot grinned and flopped down on the sofa. 

"You two are going to get caught," she hissed. "And I hope you realize that won't help your chances of not being killed by my dad's associates."

"Hey, at least if I die, I die happy."

"Judging by the look on his face, if you die, my _brother_ dies happy," she shot back. Spot shrugged nonchalantly. "As my dad would actually _kill_ him. Keep that in mind. Oh, and speaking of the two of you..." She sat down on one of the overstuffed armchairs, which was angled slightly towards the couch. "I hope you're comfortable, because we're _also_ going to have a long chat."

"Oh yeah?" Spot asked, suddenly on guard.

"Oh, _yeah_." She smirked. "Because on the off chance that you live out the night, you _are_ dating my _only_ brother, and that means it's time for you to have a nice, long chat about the birds and the bees, and the pleasures of safe sex."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he muttered, and started to stand up.

"Hah. No. If I have to keep your secret, I'm going to make sure you two aren't actually being stupid. _Sit_."

He couldn't tell if she was joking or not, until he saw the look she was giving him. He sank back onto the couch for what was definitely going to be an awkward conversation.

*

B: I would like to point out that, despite the fact that Funkie blamed ME and said I'D be the busy one this semester, it was not MY fault this chapter took so long to get out... ::evil glare::

F: I would like to point out that I'm completely to blame, but...don't blame me. I'm so pretty!

B: ...well, fine, I can't argue with that. Damn you.

F: On this note, something else she can't argue with, FUCK SEAN PENN. Johnny! Bill! 

B: God damn you, Academy Awards!!

F: And Johnny just looked so hot hot hot...plus, best original song? I wanted LOTR to win everything but that.

ANYWAY.

B: Yeah, uh, A Mighty Wind? Robbed. But yeah. Anyway... fic... right.

F: Yeah, uh, Triplets of Belleville? Robbed. FIC. You'll note Race gets a little hot action.

B: Of course he does. What you won't notice is that we're right around 200 pages into the fic now. 200!

F: And it gets better from here!! I'm serious, B is so freaking good.

B: Only because I don't take a month to edit chapters (grumble). But seriously, working on this fic is so much fun. Thanks for all of the support we've gotten from everyone, this is a MONSTER project, and it makes us feel like it's really worthwhile.

F: I feel like a jerk.

B: Aww, you know I love you.

F: Someone has to love the jerk.

B: You're not a jerk, just a slacker. But you're a great writer, so we forgive you.

F: -blush-. My english teacher told me something along those lines the other day.

B: Well, anyway. We'll try to get the next update out a bit more timely, and you won't want to miss it. Come on, Spot and Mr. Higgins have a show down. You know you want it.

F: Also, a note? Yeah, Spot is one fucking hot mama. If he were at the academy awards, he should win. LIKE JOHNNY DEPP.

B: Right, clearly it's time to break out the tranquilizers for Funkie. Thanks again for the support. Catch y'all on the flipside.

F: JOHNNY.

B: Hoo, boy. Wish me luck...


	13. Cat Got Your Tongue

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

Think of what the past did

It could've lasted

So put it in your basket

I hope you know a strong man

Who can lend you a hand

Lowering my casket

I thought this is just today

And soon you'd been returning

The coldest blue ocean water

Cannot stop my heart and mind

From burning

Everyone who's in the know says

That's exactly how it goes

And if there's anything good about me

I'm the only one who knows

-The White Stripes, _Same Boy You've Always Known_

**_Chapter 13: Cat Got Your Tongue_**

From what Race was hearing, he had only two options: one, let his father deal with Spot as the Family saw fit; or two, somehow convince his father that Spot could keep his mouth firmly closed. 

It had been made fairly clear which one his father was leaning towards, so Race knew it was entirely up to him to convince his father to let Spot talk to him at all. Paulo did _not_ like Spot, and that really threw a wrench into the gears. 

All he could do was try, and beg, and not give up. 

"Sir, I promise you," Race sat up straight. "I promise, he will do anything he can to convince you that he'll keep things to himself. He probably forgot it anyway, he strategically forgets things that get him in shit." Race caught himself. "I mean--trouble." 

His father raised an eyebrow. "Most people find it hard to forget being kidnapped." 

"Spot isn't most people," Race promised. "You can trust him, probably more than you can trust me." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah; he's not the drug addict," Race said. "He's the one who--who wouldn't let me out of his sight until I got home, just in case. I owe him and I know he's trustworthy and if you'd just talk to him... You said you would." 

"So he can tell me about his childhood," Paulo said. "I am not impressed." 

"Please, Dad," Race begged. "Please, I--I'm not asking as someone in the Family, I'm asking you as your son. He's my best friend, Dad, please." 

Paulo closed his eyes and rubbed his temples slightly. "Ten minutes," he said. "I'll give him ten minutes. If he can convince me, fine; if not... I will have no other option. Is that very clear?" 

"Yes, sir," Race agreed quietly. 

"Then go get him," his father ordered. "And wait in your room while we talk." 

Race gulped, and opened his mouth to maybe take back everything entirely and convince his father not to see Spot, because really, he wanted Spot to live to his next birthday. And knowing Spot, tempers would fly if he was left alone with Race's father. 

But Spot had to do this himself, because he was the only one that could convince Race's father he could be trusted. Spot proved things; it was something about him... Race didn't know what, but he couldn't imagine not trusting Spot. Race was sure the other guys would agree. Spot would piss you off, he'd insult you, he'd even make you cry without any remorse or guilt whatsoever, but he'd probably do anything for you, at the same time. 

Which meant a lot more, really. 

So Race just nodded and let himself out of his father's office, and down the two flights of stairs that lead to the rec room, and stared in shock for a second. Isabella was talking about oral sex. 

"IZZY!" he shrieked, horrified. 

"Oh, thank God," Spot mumbled. 

"Tony, we're busy having a conversation," she answered, and turned back to Spot. 

"I, uh, get the point, Isabella," Spot said. 

"Yes, but there are still several areas we haven't covered yet. Now--" 

"Izzy, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Dad wants to talk to Spot. Like, now-ish." 

"Oh." She nodded. "Well, good luck, Sean. Watch your mouth; he gets angry easily." 

"Thanks, I kind of got that." 

"...And keep this conversation in mind, or else I _will_ finish it at a later date." 

"I will," Spot promised and dashed over to the stairs to join Race, standing at the foot of the staircase. "She's nuts, Tony," he hissed. 

"...Yeah." Race sighed. "Look, be careful, okay? And please, please, please don't swear or yell or insult him. For the love of... This is really, really important, Spot." 

Spot blinked, and then grinned slightly. "You worried about me?" 

"Of course, idiot," Race snapped. "Come on, just...don't fuck around, okay?" Spot put his hands in his pockets, not saying anything, just looking intently at Race. "Stop staring at me, do you promise or not?" 

Spot, even with Isabella in the room, leaned forward and brushed his lips against Race's. Softly, and tenderly, and for some reason it felt very much like a first kiss. 

"Good luck," Izzy murmured again, as they walked off. 

"I'm gonna be in my room, okay? If--if things go badly--I mean, for god's sake, scream. The office is almost right underneath my room, I'll be listening and--" 

"And do what, exactly?" Spot interrupted quietly. "Tony, if this goes badly, I doubt he'll kill me in his office. The blood would ruin the upholstery." He rolled his eyes. "And if he does, I don't want you to see it, okay?" 

"But--" 

"Tony, please. I know you did the best you could, and now it's my turn. And hey, I can be charming, right? _You_ fell for me." 

"Yeah, but I'm not Dad." He sighed as the reached the second level of the house, where his father's office was. 

"Good luck," Race said, and paused outside the doorway. He badly wanted to kiss Spot again, to tell Spot how much he loved him, but... But his father was right inside. So instead he grabbed Spot's arm, clutched it hard for a second, and stared him in the eye. 

"Yeah," Spot said. "I know. Me, too." He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and knocked on the large wooden door. Race waited to hear his father yell for him to come in and for the door to shut before he started to head towards his room. 

Ten minutes, and it would all be decided. In ten minutes, the best thing in his life could be over... 

* 

Mr. Higgins was a very big man, even when he was sitting down. Spot kind of gaped as he got his first close view of this very large, very scary, and very much angry Italian man.

"Sean," he rumbled, and pointed at the seat across from him. "Take a seat." 

Spot wanted to say something funny, or clever, but his only material was a chair...and the fact he could be dead before morning. 

Though oddly enough though, that seemed to make the air _more_ open to jokes... Or maybe he was hysterical and didn't know it. 

"Anthony tells me you can convince me of your silence," Mr. Higgins started, getting to the point. "Frankly, I don't believe you could do that." 

"Well, I have ten minutes, right?" Spot replied, slouching slightly in his seat. "Ten minutes to let you know that I usually avoid talking about things that happen to me in general?" 

Mr. Higgins raised an eyebrow. He was silent, and finally checked his watch. "You may start." 

Taken off guard, and surprised at the complete lack of empathy, Spot's voice cracked for the first time in years on the first word. "Well, uh... Have you ever heard of Matthew Jeffrey Conlon? Because he was my dad." 

"The name sounds familiar, vaguely," Mr. Higgins agreed. "So?" 

Spot hesitated. "I--I don't suppose you have some way to get access to, like, FBI files or police records or anything? 'Cause I can recite most of the shit he did, but I'd rather not, and I'd probably forget things..." 

"Are you sure you want to use your ten minutes discussing your father?" he asked. 

"Yes." Spot leaned forward in his chair a little. "Because basically, that is, if I didn't know how to keep my mouth shut when a crazy man with a gun told me to, I'd have been dead a long time ago." 

There was another moment of silence between them, and finally Mr. Higgins linked his fingers together and set them on the desk. "What does this have to do with me, Sean?" 

Sean bit his lip, biting back every retort that was flying through his head. "He did it to me when I was eight, sir. So when the police asked me, nothing was going on, Dad was fun, we went fucking fishing together." He glanced up. "Pardon the French. Sir." 

The raised eyebrows indicated Spot should just talk. 

"Well, I did keep my mouth shut. He was caught because mom pulled the plug on everything, not me." 

"I see. A moment, please," Mr. Higgins requested, and picked up his phone. He hit one of his speed dial buttons and a moment later had a very brief conversation in Italian, then turned on the fax machine that sat in the corner of his office before returning to his chair. "His record should be here by the end of our... talk." 

Spot wasn't sure if he should thank Mr. Higgins, or continue, or what, so he sat quietly for a few seconds. Mr. Higgins merely waited and Spot had the feeling he'd be perfectly happy to let the next eight minutes pass without a word, and have Spot executed as a result. So he started talking again. 

"See, uh, what happened today? Not all that freaky. I mean, not... Not something I'd want to repeat, and God knows I didn't expect it, but I've actually--actually seen worse shit than that. When I was, like, eleven, I spent a night helping my Dad dig graves, drop corpses, and fill them in again." His voice cracked again and he fought to stay calm, to be as disaffected by the memories as he always pretended to be. That had been the worst, the absolute worst thing Spot could remember. He shuddered. He hadn't... He hadn't _seen_ what his father had done but...

He'd heard the screaming.

Mr. Higgins nodded slowly, noting Spot's discomfort. 

"And, uh, I didn't tell the police, or my shrink, or anyone about that night, 'cause... Tell the truth, I don't fucking want to talk about it, it ain't... It's not exactly fun to think about, I'm just as happy to... Not... Not even acknowledge that... Any of it. Anything. And today wasn't really different." 

He continued, "I don't look back on shit. I block it out, and then as far as I'm concerned, it never happened. Because if I didn't want it, and if it was something as fucked up as...well, as things could get sometimes with my old man, then I just erase it." 

Mr. Higgins spoke up, abruptly. "You erase history. How am I supposed to believe you won't let it slip during a breakdown? Which I'm _quite_ positive you're prone to." 

Spot swallowed. "I don't break down." 

"Why should I believe that?" 

Spot stared. "I don't break down," he repeated. Spot 'broke down' in private. People didn't see. The fight with Jack was as far as he went. 

"Again; why should I believe that?" 

Which was enough to tip Spot away from the intensity of his memories and the terror they invoked and back towards anger at Mr. Higgins. He flatly answered, "That, right there? That was the closest I get to breaking down. _You're_ the first person I ever told about the... the graves... and that's just 'cause I don't want to end up _in_ one. If I broke downmy dad woulda been caught years before he was, and if I talked, same thing. I don't do either." Which got no response, so he pressed on, "Fucking... If I _broke down_, don't you think I'd be doing it about, say, _now_?" 

"I frankly don't know what or when you'd be doing it," he responded, his eyes flicking down to some paperwork on his desk. There was a beat of silence before he commented, "However, your point is well made." 

He said it in an angry voice, so it took Spot a moment to recognize the fact that he was, oddly enough, being respected. A little. He was, as far as Spot could tell, unimpressed by Spot and his past and his father and...everything. 

He may not believe him. Which is where the police files came in. 

"If it makes you feel more secure, Mr. Higgins," Spot started slouching again, and started playing with the bottom of his shirt once more. "I'd do anything to pretend that today never fucking happened." 

"Are you willing to step out of Anthony's _life_ to live up to those words, Sean?" 

Spot blinked. 

He hadn't expected a question like that. 

Spot stared for a second. He actually stared, and he hated how painfully obvious it was that he'd been caught off guard. He forced himself to look away, to make his face go blank, swallowed and tried to remember how to breath. 

Death or life without Racetrack. 

That wasn't fucking _fair_. 

He sat up straight and clenched and unclenched his fist, shifted his weight, began to play with his shirt again. 

"Sean," Mr. Higgins prompted. 

"I'm thinking," he answered. "I just--Tony's, like, the only person I trust in the whole damn world and--that would be giving up a fucking lot. I don't trust people so easily." 

"That doesn't answer the question." 

Spot paused again, and finally said in a quiet voice, "Uh, I'm not sure how practical that would be." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, 'cause--I mean, I'm just guessing, but you're probably gonna want to follow Tony around for awhile until this is all settled, right? And assuming I get out of this alive, probably me too, and--and Marco said something about you not having enough people while you were dealing with this, so it would make life easier if Tony and I were hanging out together, wouldn't it?" 

Mr. Higgins's only answer was, "Marco talks too much." 

"And--and anyway, you said he could stay in the band, you and he made a deal about that, is what he told us. And I'm at, like, every rehearsal, so us not running into each other would be awfully hard unless you take back your deal with Tony." 

"If I must, I will," Mr. Higgins said plainly. 

"Yeah, but..." Spot shrugged. "I know you wouldn't 'cause...you like, saved our asses today, so I think you'd kind of like it that Tony has a band and he's having fun." 

The man glared at him. "You are not in any position to analyze me, Sean." 

"I didn't--" 

"And you still haven't answered the question," he continued. "Would you or would you not be willing to cut off your friendship with my son?" 

Spot, holding back all of his temper and swearing and anger, stared some more, and then lowered his head. 

"No." 

"No?" Mr. Higgins repeated, incredulous. 

"No. I _don't_ fucking talk about things, I _don't_ fucking break down, and but I _do_ fucking stand up for myself. You're gonna kill me or you're not and it's got nothing to do with if I'd leave Tony alone or not, you just don't like me and you _hate_ that he does." 

He got no reaction; Mr. Higgins was very good at not reacting. But that left him with no real reason to stop talking, and before he knew what he was saying, the words were spilling out. 

"Ya know, I overheard a lot of _other_ shit today, too. You almost couldn't marry your wife, right? That's how you ended up in this thing to begin with, to try and earn money and respect 'cause you were too fucking poor to marry some rich girl. You're a goddamn hypocrite, 'cause that's the only thing you got against me, and David, and the rest of us. You're just a goddamned hypocrite." 

"A hypocrite?" Paulo Higgins responded. "You're here right now, to convince me--" 

"GOD couldn't fucking convince you!" Spot snapped. "Jesus, I actually have a POINT here! You were _poor_ once, old man, and now you write me off and want me dead ANYWAY because I own like, four shirts, a pair of jeans and a fucking backpack." Spot backtracked. "Which broke. Shit." 

Mr. Higgins leaned backwards in his chair, his finger tapping slowly on the top of the desk. He glanced down at his paperwork once more, and then stared at Spot. The silence that followed was completely unbearable. Spot could feel it--it was determined now. 

_I'm going to fucking goddamn die..._ Spot thought, his breath quickening. _I'm going to die. _

"I too, erase things," Mr. Higgins said finally. "Like you, I erase what I do not want to remember. Because what good does having nothing do?" 

That was the last thing Spot had expected. Really, he was sure he would have been backhanded by now, but no. Instead, Mr. Higgins was indicating that they had something in common. Sort of. Though Spot doubted that the man was doing it on purpose. 

"Yeah," Spot said finally. "Yeah, not a lot. But we don't all get the chance to marry rich, and some of us ain't willing to kill people to get there, either." 

Mr. Higgins raised an eyebrow. "I didn't start out killing people, Sean; nor do I enjoy it. I do what is necessary to ensure that my children will never have to live like you do, like I _did_. I had to work for everything I had before I met my wife; I fought to get through school and to get into college--which I doubt you are doing. I fought so I would no longer have to be surrounded by... poverty." What he meant was, 'by people like you.'

"Nor," he continued, "do I want my children surrounded by it, or even exposed to it." 

"I know I'm a shit, okay?" Spot rolled his eyes. "I personally would hate me if I was anyone else, but if you haven't noticed, _David_ is just as dirt poor as me and he's the one with a scholarship to Tony's fucking school." Spot sat up straight. "Hey, a poor kid, like me, is helping your son pass Chem. Isn't that funny?" 

"Talk in that tone with me, and I can shoot you right here." 

Spot gulped, and slouched again, not making a noise. Mr. Higgins looked down at his watch, then picked up his phone, pressing at the red button on the top right hand corner. He snapped something in Italian, spoke for a total of five seconds, and hung up. 

"Your files are confidential," he said. "It'll be longer than I thought; and more of my time wasted." 

"I can't do much about it." 

"And we've already passed more than the ten minutes I promised you; I imagine my son is having an anxiety attack upstairs." 

Spot almost stared. Was that a _joke_? No. That couldn't be; it wasn't just out of Mr. Higgins' character, it seemed into the realm of impossibility. So he took it at face value. "Yeah, probably. Hey, so long as you're gonna kill me anyway, I might as well say that you treat him like shit and the reason he screws up is 'cause you expect him to." 

Mr. Higgins had clearly had a very long day; Spot knew that. There had been the stress of his son's kidnapping, then rescue, and being shot; he was now faced with a decision that would leave no one happy, no matter what. He was actually under enough pressure that for just a moment there was a flicker of... something... on his face, but then it was gone. But Spot saw it, and smirked, just a tiny bit. At least something he'd said had hit home, even if he was going to die for it. 

"My relationship with my son is none of your business," Mr. Higgins finally said, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.

"Of course not," Spot answered. "What were you saying? I just completely erased everything we talked about. Nice office." 

Spot was irking him. Or maybe Spot was just being hopeful, because he _wanted_ to irk the old bastard. "An admirable attempt, but I am not convinced." 

"_Nothing_ will convince you." Spot shrugged. 

"Perhaps, but it seems you haven't been doing much persuading." He cracked his knuckles, and Spot winced. "Just talking of your father and my hypocrisy." 

"Pot? This is Kettle. You're fucking black." 

A smirk spread across Mr. Higgins face. "I'm sure there are many individuals out there who would jump at the opportunity to kill you, Sean." 

"I'm sure they'll be lining up to thank you." 

"Then you've made up my mind," Mr. Higgins answered. 

"Good, 'cause I wouldn't want you to have to fucking take responsibility for it when you tell Tony." He crossed his arms and leant back in his chair and met Mr. Higgins's glare with his own. He'd been afraid walking in, when things were uncertain; now things were set and he didn't care anymore. He wondered if he'd get to say goodbye to Race. He was sorry he'd been an asshole to Jack. He hoped his father was having painful electric shock therapy. But he wasn't afraid. 

"I should have let you die in the crossfire," Mr. Higgins finally replied. "That would have been easy; to pretend my aim was off. The problem would have been taken care of before it even formed." 

"Yeah," Spot answered. "Well, sucks to be you, then." 

There was a beeping noise, and both shot their heads over to look at the fax machine, which was now producing several sheets of paper. 

Mr. Higgins pushed himself over on his revolving chair with wheels, which Spot found kind of funny because...well, everyone enjoyed revolving chairs, but Mr. Higgins was so _dignified_ about it. 

The man ran his eyes over the sheets, and Spot looked for a reaction that wasn't a raised eyebrow, which was all he was getting. But... nothing. Just blank.

Mr. Higgins finally made his way back to the desk, and pressed a button on the telephone. 

"Racetrack," he said. 

There was rustling on the other side. "Yeah? Spot, Dad, what, is...okay, Spot, you better have fucking not have done anything stupid." 

"I so did," Spot replied, and Mr. Higgins interrupted before Race could respond. 

"Come down to my office," he said. 

"But--" 

"Now." 

Then he pressed another button and shuffled the papers. 

Within a second they could actually hear frantic footsteps pounding in the upstairs hallway, and barely moments later, a knock at the door. Spot was kind of touched by how quickly Race had gotten there. And he was glad he'd have a chance to say goodbye. 

Race didn't wait for his father to acknowledge the knock before opening the door and stepping in. He stared at his father for a second, then at Spot, and was clearly trying to catch his breath after his frantic dash. 

"Oh good, you're still alive," he finally said, trying to sound nonchalant. His father gestured at another chair and he sat. "So, uh, do I wanna ask...?" 

"Yeah, well," Spot breathed. Suddenly he felt sick. He wanted to be the one to tell Race he was going to die. Because he sure as hell couldn't see Mr. Higgins giving a shit. But Spot knew Race cared... It was nice. Loving was nice because then someone HAD to give a shit about him, which didn't happen to Spot too often. 

Their eyes met, and Race's face dropped. 

"I have made my decision," Mr. Higgins said, and Race didn't look away from Spot. 

"Dad, you... you can't..." 

Spot bit the corner of his mouth. "Listen--" 

"Sean will not be killed." 

Spot turned to face Mr. Higgins with an open mouthed expression. "What the fuck did you say?" 

"I do not appreciate your language, Sean." 

"Yeah, sorry, but--what?" 

Race's father set the papers on his desk, slid them across towards Race. Spot's heart sank a little; Race already knew he was messed up, sure, but he'd never planned to tell Race just how _badly_. There was no reason for him to know. But before he could object, Mr. Higgins started speaking again. "To my surprise, it seems you weren't exaggerating when you described your father as a crazy man with a gun." He paused. "Or was that your description of me?" 

"If the shoe fits," Spot answered without thinking, then realized he probably should be back to his best behavior because... Because he wasn't going to die unless he did something drastically stupid. 

"Spot!" Race half-yelled. 

"Quite all right, Tony, as his description is fairly accurate." Mr. Higgins reached into his suit pocket, needing to fiddle with the sling on his arm to do so, produced a gun, and leveled it at Spot. "You already know me; I am now holding a gun to your head so you know how very, very serious I am." 

"Dad--" 

"Anthony," his father said, not looking away from Sean, his arm not even wavering slightly. Race fell silent. "I trust you understand the gravity of the situation, then, Sean." 

Spot stared at the gun, and nodded. 

"Good. You will be under surveillance; any sign that you are less than trustworthy, and you can expect to look up the barrel of this gun again. Do I make myself fully clear?" 

"Yes. Sir." 

Mr. Higgins nodded, and put his gun away. 

"This will take supreme effort on my part to go through," Mr. Higgins said to Spot, who noticed Race was reading the fax of his father's record with a despaired, pained sort of look on his face. "I don't want to do it." 

Spot stared. 

"You've said your peace, Sean. But there are no more chances. Keep your head." He waved his arm. "Now get out of my office." 

Race was still reading the paper, not paying any attention, and Spot shoved his shoulder. "Hey, don't--" He looked up at his father. "Wait, surveillance? Does that--" 

"You know what it means, Racetrack. Now get out." 

Race and Spot looked at each other. 

"I-DO-NOT-LIKE-REPEATING-MYSELF." 

Both jumped, and with that, clumsily hurried out of his office. 

Race grabbed Spot's wrist and dragged him up the nearest set of stairs and to his room, papers still clenched in his other hand. He shut the door and stared at Spot, then broke into a grin. "You did it! You--you're not dead! Oh my god, you're not dead!" 

Spot said nothing, but felt pretty much the same. Except he was still fairly caught up in the papers Race was handing. He smiled half heartedly, and kissed Race quickly. 

"Don't tell me you're not excited," Race said. "Don't act like you don't care, you could have died!" 

"I care!" Spot answered. "I care, but, you know, I'm fucking confused. I lost it in there, seriously, I yelled and swore and insulted him and he's not having me killed because...?" 

"Because he's got no reason to," Race answered. "He doesn't and he knows it, 'cause he can hate you but you're not a threat because these--" he rustled the papers, "show you can keep your mouth shut!" 

"Yeah," Spot agreed, then almost nervously, "Yeah, so, could you not read that?" 

Race stopped smiling, looking guilty immediately. "I uh...well, I already read some of it, but I won't read anymore, sorry. I didn't know you wouldn't...shit, fuck, sorry." 

"What did you read?" 

"Uh..." 

"What did you _read_?" 

Race looked down at the papers, and then quickly handed them over to Spot, who crumpled them up and shoved them in his pocket. "Just...well, it was all kind of technical. But I picked up the stuff about...about him throwing your head against the bookshelf when the cops came in." 

"....and?" 

"And it had some dialogue your mom said, from the court thing...not much else." 

Spot sighed, and sat down on the bed, his shoulder slumping. "That it?" 

"Yeah. Oh, shit, I shouldn't have... I didn't even realize what it was at first, I shouldn't have read it at all. I'm sorry." 

"Your dad's a real dick," Spot muttered. "He did want you to read it, I'll bet you anything." 

"Why?" 

"How the fuck should I know? Probably to, like, freak you out so you wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore. He does fucking hate me." 

"Yeah," Race agreed. "But my mom likes you, and my sisters and Marco like you, and I..." He trailed off. "You know." 

"Yeah, I know." Spot grinned. He reached forward and grabbed Race's shoulder, stepped in close and kissed his neck, but Race shoved him away. "What?" he demanded. 

"Under surveillance, Dad said. That means people watching _all the time,_ Spot!" 

Spot snorted. "Oh come on." 

"It's true!" 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Spot stared. "Four minutes ago, tops, I found out I wasn't going to be killed. I almost died." He gave Race's shoulder a bit of a shove. "I think I kind of have a right to some ass." 

"SSSHHH." Race clamped a hand over Spot's mouth. "LISTENING." 

Spot bit him. 

"I'm fucking serious. You want to know how fast my dad will change his mind and kill you? Then kiss me." 

"Okay." Spot smirked and started forward; Race shoved him away again. "Fuck you!" Spot snapped. 

"I wish you could, but this is serious. It's not just me being paranoid, it's my room being bugged and a guy in a suit and sunglasses following you everywhere, recording every word you say. I'm fucking serious!" 

"How... How do you know? For sure?" 

"'Cause whatever it was that made him change our name made him put me and Izzy and Sophie under surveillance too, and there was always someone there." 

"Well, it's not like he had time to call someone in this second," Spot grumbled. 

"He could too!" 

Spot sulked. "I'm going to bed." He turned on his heel, and threw open the door in a very huffy, and melodramatic fashion. "Jerk your_self_ off." 

"Spo--" The door slammed in his face. "Ugh, _bitch_." 

Spot grumpily trotted down the stairs, and when he passed by a curious looking Maria, he couldn't help flicking her in the forehead. 

"Oww!" 

"I'm in a bad mood, Thumbelina." 

She glared after him, and then seemed to reconsider her anger. "Wait, are you gonna die?!" 

Spot didn't answer, and continued down the stairs until he reached the den, where he saw Sophia, Isabella and Marco all sitting, and--in synch--all jerked their heads up to look at him when he entered the room. 

"Sean?" Isabella asked after a second. 

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said. 

"For now?" Marco asked. "Or like... in a more permanent way?" 

He shrugged. "Looks pretty permanent for now." 

"Oh, thank God," Isabella said and Sophia actually got to her feet, started to approach him, then stopped. 

"Right, people don't hug you," she said. "Well, I gotta call Gabe and then go to bed." 

"Wait!" Marco called. "No phone calls until your dad gives the all clear." 

"But--" 

"No buts. That includes you, Sean; they need to put together a cover story and make sure you can remember it in your sleep before you get to talk to anyone. Sorry 'bout that; I know you wanted to call your brother." 

"Yeah, whatever." 

"Where's Tony?" Isabella asked abruptly. 

"In his room." He paused. "Masturbating." 

"Funny." She rolled her eyes. "While we wait for the all clear, why don't we finish our earlier conversation, Sean?" 

He paled a little. "Sorry, Izzy," he apologized quickly. 

"I thought so." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and for a second looked almost exactly like Sophia. 

"Man, you should do intimidation for the Family," Marco muttered, and she smacked his shoulder. 

"So you really won't die?" Sophia asked Spot as Marco and Isabella started punching each other. "Really?" 

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Why should you care?" 

Sophia made a face, and kicked Spot slightly in the leg. He winced, and pulled back. "Listen, I'm actually starting to like you. And you're like, Tony's best friend. I don't want him going all psycho and cocaine addict again. Besides," she shrugged. "You're not so bad, you just think you are." 

Spot grinned a little; Sophia had that effect. He understood why Itey liked her... Though he really didn't get the whole 'liking girls' thing. 

"If Itey wouldn't shoot me, I'd kiss you." He smirked, giving her a wink. Sophia smiled, and Marco stared. 

"I'D shoot you," he snapped. 

"So would Tony," Isabella mentioned, and she and Spot made eye contact. Then Spot let out a laugh. 

"That was funny, kind of." 

"It was," Isabella agreed. Sophia and Marco looked a little confused. "I like how they're stupid." 

"Me too." 

"I'm not stupid!" 

"Shut up, Marco." 

"YOU shut up, _Izzy_." 

"You say Izzy like it's an insult, _Junior_." 

"Shut up!" 

Spot rolled his eyes. "Are they always like this?" he asked Sophia. 

"_Yes_," she answered emphatically. "Always have been, too. Man, you should see what our Thanksgiving dinners are like, those two can not stop bickering." 

"Can so." 

"We really can't." 

"Now you're doing it on purpose!" 

"I always do it on purpose, Marco, because I always win!" 

"You're a terrible person," Marco sulked, then stood. "But I gotta go find out if I'm supposed to be working or anything, and I told Maria I'd tell her a bedtime story." 

"Isn't she too old for that?" Spot asked. 

"Marco's bedtimes stories are great," Izzy explained. "Because he loses track of what's going on, and he'll start off with a Princess and a unicorn and end up, like, on Venus with a reindeer." 

Marco rolled his eyes. "You live to mock me, don't you?" 

"It's easy enough," Izzy answered. "C'mon, _Rosetta_, let's let Sean have his room back. You want me to send down Tony?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure," he said. She gave him a strange look, and he shrugged again, not able to explain that they were sort of fighting, but not really even, and the trio left him to his own devices. 

He collapsed on his makeshift bed and spent a minute reveling in how he wasn't about to die, until Race appeared in the rec room. "So, you done being a bitch?" he asked. 

"You done being paranoid?" 

"I'm not paranoid, I don't want to get caught." He lowered his voice. "I don't want Dad to kill you, Spot. And he would, you know he would. Seriously, don't give him an excuse, we have to be careful." 

Spot sighed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." 

Race clicked his tongue. "Well, I guess there's the washrooms..." 

"I actually don't feel like making out," Spot said, as he picked up a drumming magazine that was on the bedside table and started flipping through it. "I just want to fucking lay around with you. But nooo, I--" 

"You don't want to make out?" 

"No, I--" 

"Is that POSSIBLE? 

"Shut up." 

"You always want to have sex, you're like, an addict." 

"SHUT UP." Spot chucked the magazine, and it hit his boyfriend with a satisfying hitting sound. "Ass, go away." 

Race picked the magazine up as Spot continued to sulk, glanced over his shoulder, and then sighed as he flopped down next to Spot and replaced the magazine. "Stop pouting, you look like a four year old." 

"Do not, fucker." 

"You so do. It's kinda cute, but mostly just disturbing, and kinda annoying." 

"Yeah, so?" 

Race shrugged, and gestured towards the front of the room, where there was an almost impossibly huge television and an elaborate and VERY expensive system surrounding it. "So we can't make out or whatever, but we could, like, watch a movie. This _is_ the rec room." 

Spot shrugged. "What've you got?" 

Race stood, helped Spot to his feet, and showed him over to a cabinet. He opened the door, and Spot nearly gaped. 

"That's, like, every movie ever made." 

"Not quite." 

"Seriously, that's insane." 

"Well duh, this is my family we're talking about. Mental stability is not our strong point." 

Spot gaped for another second, then began to run his eyes through the list of action titles. He couldn't believe they were actually organized alphabetically, after being classified by genre. It really was kind nuts, and not even in the way Race's family usually was. "Wow, that's..." he started again. 

"Mom is really pretty anal about organization," Race explained. "So pick something already." 

Spot glanced over most of the movies as either stupid, or boring, or bad, and finally reached out and selected the first _Terminator_ movie. 

"Are you joking?" Race demanded. 

"Fuck no, I love this movie." 

"...Why?" 

"'Cause it's good," Spot snapped. 

Race shrugged. It wasn't exactly romantic, but he hadn't expected Spot to pick _Gone With The Wind_ anyway. Though really, there was some romance in it. Or at least, a sex scene. Maybe that was worth something. 

"Popcorn?" Race asked as he started to get the video system set up. It looked needlessly complicated to Spot, who was used to 'turn VCR on, insert movie,' but this seemed a bit more high tech. 

"Sure," Spot agreed. Race grinned, started the movie and paused it, and dashed upstairs. Spot spent the next five minutes marveling over the movie collection, until Race returned with a bag of popcorn ('Oh, so you DO microwave things like a normal human being SOMETIMES.' 'Shut up!' 'It's not even Italian!') and they sat on the couch-turned-bed. 

They couldn't exactly sit together, but they sat close enough to balance the popcorn between them, which also meant close enough that almost any arm or leg movement would bring about physical contact. 

It wasn't ideal, but it was good enough. 

Spot felt like that was suddenly the motto of his life. So long as Race was right next to him, it was good enough. 

He reached for a handful of popcorn as the opening text faded in, and his hand brushed Race's. They looked over at each other, and Race grinned a little. 

"God, you're hot," Spot murmured. 

"Watch the movie," Race answered, but he did brush Spot's hand with his thumb before taking some popcorn. 

Spot, for the life of him, couldn't think of one time in his life where he hadn't wanted to pay attention to Terminator; but his boyfriend, his sexy, adorably hot drummer Italian boyfriend, was right next to him and he couldn't do a goddamn thing about it. 

Really, at the moment, Spot just wanted to hold him. One of the only times ever where he didn't want to make out and he couldn't even be romantic about it. 

"I love you, Terminator," Race said suddenly, as he ate some more popcorn. "Goddamnit I do." 

Spot didn't get it for a moment, but then grinned. "And Terminator loves you, dumbass." 

"He does?" 

"I'm not talking about a person, I'm talking about the Terminator." 

Race didn't get it. Spot loved how he didn't get it. 

"The terminator isn't a person?" 

"Not MY terminator." 

Race blinked and then punched Spot's shoulder. "PERV." 

"'I love you, Terminator,'" Spot simpered and Race punched him again. "Pussy." 

"You're the one who said it first!" 

"Yeah, but I said it cool." 

"No you didn't." 

"Pfft." 

"We have to keep it down!" 

"You're the one squealing like a girl." 

"I. Am. Not." 

"You SO were," Spot laughed, and shoved Race, who shoved back, and they started to get a bit more physical, and almost on cue (as Kyle Reese shot the Terminator, who had Sarah Connor in his sight) they stopped and tried to compose themselves. 

"Damn it," Race mumbled and yawned. "Fucking LONG day..." 

"Yeah, seriously." It was only around ten at night, but given that they'd been up since five--or unconscious, which was NOT the same as asleep--and had been through a lot of high stress situations, Race felt okay about his sudden exhaustion now that the lights were off and no one was in danger for real was justified. He yawned again and shifted slightly; he was leaning against Spot, his head on the couch, not on Spot's shoulder, but not too far away from it... 

Spot wanted to put his arm around Race but didn't dare, so he just began eating popcorn again. He was almost as tired as Race seemed to be, but really did want to call Jack as soon as he could, so he remained awake long after Race fell asleep, rolled off the couch back, and ended up dozing against Spot's arm. 

The movie was just winding up when Marco let himself down the stairs. "Oooh, good flick," he commented, then handed Spot a few papers stapled together. "Read this. Memorize it. Quiz in half an hour, then you can call your brother." 

"What?" Spot asked. 

"It's your cover story. I've got a copy for Tony, too." He hesitated, then shook Race's shoulder. "C'mon, cuz; bedtime. You've got school in the morning." 

"Mmmph," Race mumbled, annoyed to be awoken. "You, uh, need anything, Spot?" he asked. 

"Nope, I'm good." 

"'Kay..." He yawned. "I'll see you in the morning, then." 

"'Night, Tony." 

"'Night, Sean." Race gave him a sleepy smile, and Marco helped him up the stairs. Spot turned off the movie, having figured that hitting power on the TV would probably shut off the important parts, and began to study the story that had been concocted. 

At first, Spot had to make a disgusted face, because it seemed he was purposely being made into a wuss, via Mr. Higgins. Of course, what did he expect? 

According to the story, they were mugged at night, because they'd gone joyriding and decided to catch a movie at the theatre close to downtown, where there was a bad crowd. In the process, Race's car had been stolen, and both boys had been recuperating all day, not to mention lost downtown most of the night. 

Race's family had freaked out, of course; Race and Spot had spent some time in the hospital, then reporting in the police station. (There was a note that yes, there were corroborating hospital and police records--or would be within a few hours). So Spot had ended up with barely a chance to get to a phone, and would be staying there overnight, and back for school the next day. All hospital bills would be covered by Race's family, who felt awful about it, and his foster mother had nothing to worry about. 

He read through it a few times, memorized it as best as he could, and Marco literally did quiz him on it before handing him a phone. 

He dialed, almost nervously, and waited. 

"Hello...?" It was Denise, his foster mother, and she sounded upset. He felt a little guilty, though it hadn't really been his fault... 

"Denise? It's me." 

"...." 

"Den--" 

"Sean?" 

"Yeah, I--" 

"Where have you been? Jack and I are worried SICK." 

"I was just... wait, no, don't be worried, I'm fine!" 

"You bet your life you're fine! This isn't the first time you've done this Sean, and frankly--" 

In the background, Spot could hear Jack yell "That's SEAN? Mom, move over, let me talk to him. MOM, gimme the phone!" 

Spot waited patiently while Denise and Jack argued over the phone, and finally, the voice that spoke into his ear--loudly he had to add, so he swore slightly--was Jack's. 

"SPOT!" 

"Yeah, we've established that." 

"Don't be a smart ass, where the FUCK have you been?" 

"With Tony." 

"....you're fucking KIDDING me." 

"Jack, let's not, okay? I've had a long fucking day." He sighed tiredly. 

"Too much sex?" Jack muttered. "Or is Tony still being frigid?" 

"Fuck you. No. We got mugged last night; spent the day in the hospital and the police station and trying to get his family to stop screaming in Italian. Didn't work." 

"You were _mugged_?" Jack demanded. 

"He was _what_?" Denise screamed in the background. "Jack. Phone. Now." 

"Mom--" 

"I have _paperwork_ to do if he's been in an _altercation_, Jack, you know that. People at the state are going to--ught." There was a pause and the phone changed hands. "Sean, first, are you all right?" 

He almost smiled at that; at least she _did_ care. "Yeah, fine. Well. A little bruised and real tired, but--seriously, fine. Didn't get hurt, the hospital was just 'cause Tony's mom flipped out. And they said they'll cover the cost and stuff, so no one at the state needs to worry about it." 

"Where are you hurt?" 

Spot paused. "Where am I hurt?" he repeated, glancing up at Marco. Marco indicated his shoulder and his jaw. "Not much...they took my shoulder out a bit...and my jaw was like a freaking spawn from hell like, last night, but it's fine now. Serious, the worst was Tony's car, it got stolen." 

"How is a car more important?" 

"It was a nice car, Denise." 

"Alright..." Denise sighed. "When are you coming home, Sean?" 

"I'm staying with Tony tonight." Spot fingered the patterns on the sofa, scratching at the material. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Sean, you should come home." 

"I can't." 

"Why not?" 

Spot sent a desperate look to Marco. 

Marco shrugged, and Spot improvised, "Tony's family feels really, really bad about everything. They blame--well, Tony, mostly." He laughed a little; he knew _Jack_ was certainly going to blame Race. "And insisted I stay here tonight. Like, his mom was gonna start crying again... I'll get home in time for school tomorrow, though." 

She sighed. "I'd rather you were home tonight. Sean, Jack has been telling me about this Tony person, and--" 

"He's been WHAT?" Spot demanded. "Let me talk to him." 

"Sean--" 

"Denise, it's--" he stopped and saw that Marco was looking a little too interested. "It's not a big deal or anything, okay? I'll be home early as I can, really. Sorry I made you worry." 

She sighed. "Don't do this to me again, Sean," she said after a pause. "Every time you do, the state gets this much closer to taking you away, putting you in another home or in a reform school or--Sean, I know you don't love living with me, but I know it's better than where you were before. I just don't want them to put you somewhere like that again." 

He swallowed hard; he hadn't expected that. He kind of hated it when people were nice to him, he had no idea how to respond. 

So, with an odd sound in the back of this throat, Spot said, "I don't want it to happen either." 

Denise, despite his trying to keep her out at first, knew him pretty well, and she knew what that meant, so she sighed again. "Make sure you're here tomorrow...you can cut early classes and we'll talk, but then you're off to school. Because--" 

"I know. They could take me away." 

"And we don't want that." 

"I know." There was a pause. "Tony's awesome, Denise, Jack is just full of shit. Let me talk to him." 

"...alright, but not long, I want to speak with you some more, alright?" with about the millionth sigh in the past five minutes, there was a rustling on the phone that Spot assumed was Jack taking her place. 

"Spot--" 

"What did you say, ass?" 

"That he's a cocaine addict, which is true, and an asshole, which is also true." 

"It's not," Spot argued, and abruptly realized the conversation was probably being listened to by someone else. If he actually talked about how he and Tony were involved... Tony had warned him to be careful, not to get caught. "He's not an asshole, unlike some people, JACK. 'Cause, you know, I can fucking go to HIM when SOMEONE is being a complete and total shithead." 

"Spot, don't fucking DO this to me," Jack snapped. "Look, I'm sorry we were fighting, okay? Fucking _sorry_. But I still don't like him, and I don't want you two--" 

"I don't care what you want, he's my fucking best friend." Spot was _really_ careful not to say boyfriend and to interrupt Jack before he had a chance to mention it. "And I'm not gonna stop hanging out with him. And I don't give a damn how much you hate him." 

"Christ, why are you so stupid, Spot?" Jack demanded. 

"Why are _you_ stupid?" Shot answered. "I can't believe you're STILL pissed at him." 

"For almost getting Dutchy killed? Fuck yeah, I'm pissed." He paused and Denise muttered something to him. "Denise wants to talk some more; we're finishing this damn conversation tomorrow." 

"Whatever." 

"SPOT." 

"Yeah, yeah. We'll talk, and then scream, and swear at each other tomorrow. 'Cause I'm fucking not dropping him." 

"We'll SEE about that," Jack muttered, and the phone changed hands again. 

"Sean, we'll talk tomorrow, your head isn't screwed on too tight right now," was what Denise said, and really, made Spot want to explode. What did it take? What the fuck kind of right did Jack have to go and mouth off things about Race to Denise and everybody else? 

If it wasn't for Race, Dutchy would be in fucking Juvenile Hall with a record a mile long. 

But he couldn't say that. 

"Yeah, right," Spot muttered. 

"Sean," she said seriously. "Sean, I was very worried. I care about you very much." 

Spot, again, didn't know what to say, and again, didn't know if he should even bother saying a word anymore. He was back at square one, for some reason, because he couldn't say anything, just pretend another bad thing had happened when Tony was close to him. 

Well, that was true, considering, but so different at the same time. 

"Tell Jack I hate him," Spot snapped. 

"I will not--" 

"And I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Sean--" 

"I'm gonna go to bed. 'Night, Denise." He hung up. 

Okay, well that was kind of an asshole thing to do, he realized. But--but it wasn't Tony's fault. The "mugging" wasn't either; okay, they shouldn't have been out late, which they _were_ according to the story (though Spot noted that it had been set up like he pestered Race into it, like Race had been an unwilling accomplice--fuckers). It wasn't Race's fault that a fictional mugger had jumped them any more than it was Race's fault the mafia went crazy and they'd been kidnapped. 

But no one would understand that. No one would believe it. Especially if Jack wouldn't shut his fucking mouth. 

"You okay?" Marco asked mildly. 

"Sure." 

"You sound pissed." 

"I hate my brother." 

"Yeah, and you call your mom Denise, which is weird. What was all that about the state?" 

Spot sighed. "Shouldn't you know my whole fucking background by now?" 

"Uncle Paulo does. But he won't tell me anything." 

"Then why should I?" Spot snapped. "Can I sleep now?" 

"Sure." Marco shrugged a little. "Sleep well; wake Tony if you need anything. Apparently I'm driving you home in the morning." He paused when he got no response. "Goodnight, then. Whatever." 

Spot didn't really acknowledge him as he left the room, just turned out the light and made himself comfortable in the makeshift bed. He wished he had a change of clothes, but at least they'd given him a toothbrush to use so he didn't feel totally gross. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come so easily. 

Everything was so fucked up he could hardly stand it. He was on death watch; one wrong move and he was shot, no questions asked, no further deals, he was gone. His brother was a total fucker, and the worst part was that Spot knew it was because Jack was worried about him, which made it a lot harder to hate him than Spot cared for. Denise, as usual, was in her 'my foster child is a fuck up' mode, and now the only thing that seemed right was Race. 

And now that was taken away from him, because they weren't even allowed to touch each other, because who knew where they were being watched? 

Spot wanted to throw up. He felt sick, and pathetic, and like he was a four year old brat with a fucked up father and a mom popping pills every ten minutes. He would know. 

So Spot didn't sleep much, but he did go to the washroom and throw up. 

He walked back out, and there was Isabella sitting in the dark, waiting for him. "Please tell me this isn't about safe sex," he mumbled and sat down on the blanketed couch. 

"Not this time, _caro mio. _My room is right above the washroom and I can hear through the vent; the sound of puking is pretty hard to mistake." 

He shrugged. 

"...Are you okay?" she asked. "Do you need a doctor?" 

"I'm fine." 

"You're really not." 

"I'm as fine as I get." 

She raised an eyebrow, barely visible in the dim light. 

"I'm as fine as someone who spent the day in a basement fearing for his life, and then the afternoon pretending to be normal and fearing for his life, who's having a secret gay love affair and could be killed for it, or just for breathing wrong, or for no reason at all can really expect to be." 

"So not fine at all." 

He pulled his knees up to his chest and leant against the back of the couch and the arm rest. "Not really." He sighed. "But I'll be fine." 

She gave him a concerned look. "If you want to talk..." 

"I don't talk, Isabella. And I could get shot for it if I did." 

"Not for talking to me." 

"Wanna bet?" 

She hesitated. "No, not really. I'm sorry this all happened to you--you didn't deserve it." 

"Yeah, that seems to be a real trend in my life." 

Isabella stared hard at him, but not in the cold way she'd done earlier on with the sex talk. No, now she had a pained, sympathetic sort of expression that Spot was familiar with; it was the one people who cared about him used whenever they started to really care too much. Jack used it every day. So did Race. 

And that was it, really. He didn't have very many people who cared about him. 

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding sort of breathless. "This had nothing to do with you, and you got caught up in it because you...because you..." 

"Love Tony?" Spot mumbled, his legs drawn up to his chest, his mouth leaning on top of his knee, which he was biting into for lack of anything better to inflict pain on. Because Isabella didn't deserve it. 

"Do you really?" 

"I shouldn't say." 

"Do you?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"You guess?" 

"I'm sure." His knee was starting to bleed a little. He straightened up enough to pick at it, widen the cut a tiny bit. "I really do." 

She smiled a tiny bit. "You should tell him." 

"I did." 

Which caught her off guard, and finally she asked, "How did he react?" 

"He..." Spot put his thumb over the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. "He loves me, too." Somehow, as he said it, it didn't feel real. He wished it did. He needed it to feel real. 

She smiled at him. "Good. I like you two together. And I like you, Sean. Regardless of Tony." 

He wondered what that even meant. Because all of his friends but Race were friends with him because of Jack, and the thought that anyone would want to be friends of him without a link like Jack or Race just didn't occur to him. So he didn't react until she put a hand over his. 

"I know no one hugs you," she said. "But I just want you to know that I would. If it would help." 

Spot didn't know what happened at that point. He didn't even think he was all there when he did it. But somehow, somewhere, he had to collapse and a little and Isabella opened her arms a little too, and soon they were hugging. A little. 

Which wasn't bad, because he felt a little better. 

So someone actually liked him. Until now, he hadn't been bothered with it. So people thought he was a shit, big deal. So he was an asshole, so what? _Race_ was an asshole, too. 

But people liked Race anyway. They cared about him. 

"You want to talk to Tony?" Isabella asked quietly. 

"Let him sleep," Spot replied. "If I can't than he better." 

"See, you're nicer than you think," she answered. "Will you be able to sleep all right down here? You can take my bed if you want, it's more comfortable." 

"Izzy--" 

"I don't mind." 

"I think your Dad might, though. If he woke up and discovered _me_ in his _daughter's bed_. And then we're back to me being shot." 

His voice sounded a little more stable. She nodded. "And we want to avoid that," she agreed. "But if you need anything down here. Or if you want a snack, or--" 

"Your whole family is obsessed with food, you know that? You're all trying to feed me all the time." 

"Well, you're just skin and bones," she chided. "It's good you and Tony are together; he'll make you eat properly." 

"I do--" 

"Clearly you don't. But that's a discussion for another night--for now, try and get some sleep, okay?" 

"Okay." 

She stood up, put a hand on his shoulder and let it linger for a second. "I'm right upstairs if you need me, Spot," she promised. "Sleep well." 

He nodded and she let herself back up the stairs. He lay down again and shut his eyes, and this time he felt better. It was odd, but... But he really liked Race's sisters (or at least two of the three of them) and was actually _glad_ that Isabella cared about him. 

And knowing that _she_ did made it seem a little more possible that somehow, _Race_ loved him. 

He didn't fall asleep with a smile on his face, but he did sleep. 

*

B: Too tired to write ANs. Give me pajamas or give me death!!

Funkie: Give me a sandwich... *snoooooooore*

This chapter celebrated with Japanese junk food, courtesy of B's older sister. Mmm. Pocky.


	14. My Brother And Me

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

Freedom writer 

They cursed my brother to his face 

Go home outsider 

This town's gonna be your buryin' place

-Simon and Garfunkel, _He Was My Brother_

**_Chapter 14: My Brother And Me_**

Unlike his boyfriend, Spot liked being awake early. 

In his earlier years, really, he'd hated it, but as he grew up he'd realized he didn't sleep too much anyway, and thus he was always awake by eight o'clock at the latest, more often before six. 

So he had been the first one up in the Higgins household. He knew that because the clock said five thirty, and every single light was off as far as he could tell. 

Despite his hopes, he found sleep hadn't made him feel better. 

So he took a nice, long, hot shower and then put on the same outfit for the third day in a row, and it felt even grosser against his clean skin. But the shower had helped ease some of his aching bruises, and by the time he wandered up to the kitchen, people were awake. 

Mr. Higgins was drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper calmly, somehow ignoring Isabella and Marco, who were bickering loudly. Isabella was making something for breakfast and Marco was annoying her, as close as Spot could tell. But that seemed to be Marco's role in the family. 

"Sean!" Izzy greeted him warmly. "Why don't you go wake Tony up?" She didn't wink, but she did catch his eye a little.

"If that's even possible before seven in the morning," Marco added obliviously. 

But Izzy used it as an advantage. "True. I don't think we'll see you two down here for at _least_ half an hour." She made a shooing motion and he tried not to smirk and wandered up the staircase to Race's room. 

Spot climbed the stairs, and found his legs were very weak, and his stomach felt oddly full. He'd eaten more than usual the night before, and even though the feeling had long since passed, and he'd thrown a good deal of it up anyway, whenever Spot ate a normal amount of food, he felt it. 

He reached Race's door, and didn't know why, but he felt nervous. Because right then, he felt like about the most needy boyfriend in the entire world--he really, really wanted Race to hold him or kiss him or something. But Spot didn't know how to ask for affection. Just sex. 

Why was he analyzing himself so much? 

He opened the door and, like he knew he would be, Race was sprawled out on the bed, passed out asleep. 

He was a _disgusting_ sleeper. 

Half of the blankets were kicked off and lumped at the foot of the bed or hung onto the floor, and the sheets were wrapped around him at random, encircling part of one of his legs and his waist, and covering one foot. His hair was snarled and knotted, and he had one arm wrapped around a pillow, and the other hanging off the bed. His face was buried in another pillow and that muffled what sounded like snoring. 

On the other hand, he slept wearing only boxers. And he had a _nice_ back. 

Spot hesitated for a second, then shut and locked the door behind him, sat down gently on the bed next to Race (which didn't disturb him in the slightest,) and trailed a finger down Race's spine. 

He stirred a miniscule amount but didn't wake, even a little. So Spot kissed the back of his neck, and Race let out a pleasant groan into the pillow. 

"Morning," Spot said quietly. 

Race rolled onto his side and looked at him sleepily. "'Sr'ly, msleep." He rolled back onto his stomach and about two seconds later was snoring again. 

Spot, deciding that being nice was just not the thing to do when it came to waking up Race, grabbed the side of Race's mattress, and just LIFTED. 

Seconds later, Race was tumbling off of the bed, and with a large _THOMP_, followed by a string of swears, and his head popped over the side of the now mattress-less bed, and he was still looking drowsy. 

Spot smiled for the first time in hours. Pain was so funny. 

"Bastard," Race mumbled, or a rough approximation there of. "That hurt." 

"Awww. Want me to kiss it and make it better?" 

"Why're you _awake_?" Race whined. 

"Because I'm not a lazy slacker slob." He let the mattress fall back into place. Race sat down, but jumped up again when Spot poked him in the ribs. 

"Okay, I'm up. Jesus H. Christ..." he sulked. "I'm'na shower." 

"Not yet you're not," Spot said. 

Race gave him a weird look. 

"You have bad breath but can't I have you for a few minutes? It's too early in the morning for someone to shoot me anyway." 

Race hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. Or tried to. It was hard, with the snarls and all. "Sure. But what'll you do with me?" he asked. 

Spot smiled and vaulted across the bed to land next to him, and then just... Put his arms around Race, rested his head against Race's shoulder awkwardly. "Dunno," he mumbled. "Just wanted to _see_ you." 

Race seemed a little startled by the lack of sexual frenzy in the action, but then eased into Spot's arms, and soon they were comfortably leaning against the bed, on the floor, with Spot leaning his head on Race's shoulder, and Race playing with Spot's fingers, running his thumbs over Spot's nails. 

"Did you sleep?" Race asked. 

"No. Not really." 

"How come?" 

"...didn't feel good." 

Race leaned back into him, turning his head to the side and giving Spot's jaw a slight kiss. "You okay now?" 

"Not really," Spot answered. "Shut up, will you?" 

Race, sensing he was treading into grounds that Spot would tell him sooner or later, just breathed in Spot's odd, clean yet dirty scent, and sleepily dozed a little longer in his arms. 

And Spot suddenly felt... Just _content_. His boyfriend was asleep in his arms, and in some ways it was far more intimate than making out and fooling around. He purposely didn't look at the clock and didn't care how much time passed, until there was a loud banging at the door. 

"TONY, SEAN." It was Sophia. "Breakfast is ready and Izzy says to make sure Sean didn't fall asleep and forget to get Tony up." Pause. "That means get the hell UP, _Fratello_." 

Race yelled back something that was, Spot was certainly, highly insulting, but it was in Italian so he couldn't be sure. 

Well, until Sophia answered, "We have the SAME MOTHER, jackass. Sean, PLEASE get him up." 

"Yeah," Spot called back, and hissed in Race's ear, "I can get you up." He let his hand drop to Race's crotch. Just because he didn't _have_ to be sexual all the time didn't mean he would ignore it when he had a perfect opening, after all. 

Since Race was taken by surprise, he made a small yelp-like noise and his back arched a little as Spot grabbed, hard, and then responded with pushing his own hand up Spot's leg. 

Race turned around and kissed Spot's neck, hungrily, and then his mouth. 

It quickly grew passionate before Race pulled back. "You're feisty this morning," Spot commented. 

"I have needs like you wouldn't believe." Race cleared his throat. "I uh...have to use the shower. See you downstairs." He kissed him again, quickly, as he seemed to realize the whole situation at hand. "Iloveyou," he said very quietly and quickly and it was so damned cute Spot kissed his mouth tenderly before grabbing his hand and then giving it a smack. "Go shower, _Midgito_." 

"It is not." 

"Hey, I would know." 

"So would I! I've had it my whole life!" 

"You upscale yourself." 

"Asshole..." 

Race threw him a mock-glare and left the room; Spot followed him out and walked back downstairs to the dining room. "Fifteen minutes, not bad," Marco mused. He had begun to steal the sections of the paper that Mr. Higgins had discarded. 

"Coffee?" Mrs. Higgins asked, walking out of the kitchen with a large pot of coffee in hand. 

"No, thanks." 

"I see you're more of a morning person than Tony is," she noted. 

"I think it would be hard not to be," Spot answered. "Though really, I kind of like mornings. Gives you a chance to get ready for the day, clear your head and all." 

Mr. Higgins looked up from his paper and fixed a glare on Spot for a second before he went back to reading. 

Sophia poked Spot in the side. "Dad's not a morning person," she hissed. "That's where Tony gets it." 

"Sophia," Mr. Higgins muttered. 

"Sorry, Daddy. But it's true. You're not. If you were, you wouldn't need so much coffee." 

Mr. Higgins just shot an irritated look at his daughter before downing another cup of coffee, and (kind of subtly) poured himself another. 

"Here you are!" Mrs. Higgins announced, handing Spot a bowl of some weird, fruit thingy with lots of mango inside. Spot stared, feeling his stomach bulge. "Eat up!" 

But she was just so damned cute. So he smiled at her, and took the bowl and fork, before taking a bite. It was good, considering. Well, everything in this house was good. He just wasn't that big on food in general. 

Sophia, who was wearing incredibly unsexy pajamas (baggy bottoms with ducks, and a huge hoodie) and Spot had to grin at her. "I see Gabe's images of you in a nightgown are shot down the drain," he muttered. 

"Duh," she responded. "Look look, the ducks all have different expression on their faces!" 

"Oh god, don't get her started on those," Isabella said, and Marco pouted. 

"_I_ got them for her!" 

"Precisely." 

"You SUCK, Izzy." 

"Marco," Mrs. Higgins scolded. 

"But she--" 

"_Marco_," Mr. Higgins interrupted. 

He rolled his eyes and made a face. "They all hate me," he mumbled at Spot. 

"Yes, darling," Mrs. Higgins agreed cheerfully. It took Spot a second to realize she was joking, because Marco looked amused, not hurt. 

"They ARE cute, though," Marco added. "You have to admit I have good taste in pajamas. I helped Aunt Angelina find a pair for Tony, too, with trumpets and pianos because he's _such_ a band geek." 

"Well, we all need talents in life," Spot replied, poking at his breakfast a little. "Just, most people have something more useful than finding good pajamas." 

Marco sighed. "I give up. Why do I bother talking to anyone in this house?" 

"Because you're not very smart," Sophia answered. 

"They're impossible," he protested to Spot. "Only Tony is ever on my side." 

"Yeah; because there's someone you want defending you. Our darling cocaine addict," Isabella answered. 

"Hey," Spot snapped. "Tony's not--" 

He stopped short when Mr. Higgins looked up, and didn't even have to say a word. 

"He knows he messed up," Spot finally mumbled. "And he _is_ sorry." 

Spot wasn't sure what anyone would have said then, because Maria came into the kitchen and interrupted them, also wearing huge pajamas, and a shirt that was undeniably her brother's. She was rubbing her eyes, and blinking around the kitchen. 

"Morning, stupid," she mumbled to Spot. 

"You too, ugly," Spot answered, flicking her in the side. Maria yelped and smacked his shoulder. 

"Oh, come on, you two are _so_ immature," Isabella said seriously, as Marco chucked a grape at her. 

The two of them failed to see the irony. 

Finally, Race came into the kitchen, showered and wearing just jeans and a Tony Bennet t-shirt. Maria smiled brightly, and flopped into her brother's arms and he squeezed her tightly with a large, and affectionate hug. 

"Morning, _Carina_," he said fondly, and Maria didn't let go of him. Really, Spot supposed that was where all the family sibling affection in the family went. Isabella and Marco continued flicking things at each other, Maria was hugging Race tightly, and thus Spot turned to Sophia, and grinned. Sophia, who had just finished her oatmeal, flicked her spoon at him and laughed as oatmeal hit his forehead. 

"There, now we've ALL picked on you mercilessly," she smiled. 

"Thanks, really." Spot scraped the oatmeal off with his finger, and then smeared it into Sophia's hair. She swatted at him, and grabbed a napkin. 

Isabella caught his eye, and smiled a little, and Spot felt the conversation from the night before still lingering. She really HAD welcomed him into the family... 

"Sean, perhaps you should be concentrating more on eating and less on wasting time?" Mr. Higgins suggested from behind his newspaper. "We wouldn't want you to miss school again." 

The warm and fuzzy feeling faded quickly. "Sure thing, Mr. Higgins!" he said brightly, hoping that if nothing else, the fact that he didn't need caffeine to keep his eyes open would irritate Race's father. And while he couldn't see Mr. Higgins's reaction, he did notice that his hand clutched the coffee mug a little harder. 

Race's mother came back into the room and handed Race a bowl of... whatever it was... and a mug of coffee, which he accepted gratefully and sat between Spot and his father. "So," he said after a yawn, "did you ever call Jack?" 

Spot nodded a little and forced down another forkful of breakfast. It was easier than talking about how the phone call had gone. 

Marco checked his watch, and downed the rest of his orange juice and gave Spot's shoulder a pat. "Ready to go?" 

"Not really," Spot answered, and he saw Isabella give him a sympathetic look, which luckily no one else caught. Spot grinned slightly at her, and nodded. He didn't want anyone to think there was anything wrong with him... Well, anything more than usual anyway. 

"I'm coming!" Race said as he picked up Maria from under her armpits and plopped her onto the kitchen counter--for no reason, really. Just a Race and Maria thing. 

"No, you're not," Mr. Higgins replied. "You're going to study until you go to school--you missed a day." 

"Because I almost _died_." 

"No, serious, Tony. Stay," Spot said. 

"But..." he groaned, and then saw the looks he was getting from his father and sighed. "Yeah, sure, fine." 

Spot stood and picked up his dish to deposit it in the sink, which caused Mrs. Higgins to beam at him--he hadn't though it was a big deal, but supposed she probably did a lot of cleaning up after people. Especially seeing as how Marco made no move to take care of his dishes. Once again, Spot felt out of place. 

"All right, let's get you home," Marco said, surprisingly cheerful. "Have good days, everyone." 

"Get out," Isabella answered him. "Sean, have a wonderful day. I'm sure I'll see you again." 

He nodded and forced a smile; he didn't want to leave, but didn't have a choice. He put a hand on Race's shoulder for just a second, and Race looked up and shot him a smile. "See you this afternoon," he promised. 

"Yeah, see you," Spot agreed, and let his hand drop. 

He'd taken no more than two steps when he heard Mr. Higgins call, "Sean?" 

"Yeah?" he asked, turning around. Mr. Higgins had actually set his newspaper down for a second so he could fix a very stern glare on Spot. 

"Don't screw up," he said flatly, then went back to reading. 

Spot decided saying nothing was the best answer, so he followed Marco out of the house without another word. 

Race watched Spot go, missing him already. More than he had before, actually, and he'd spent the night...that probably wasn't normal. 

"Can I call Michael and David, Mama?" Race asked as his mother started to clear up the kitchen, whistling the tune of Mambo Italiano. 

"Well, ask your father," she answered, giving his tummy a little pat as she whisked by. Race looked over at Mr. Higgins, who peered over the paper. 

"Do you understand the conditions?" 

"Yeah, you quizzed me, remember?" 

"Very well." He shuffled the paper. "Then get to your homework." 

"Thanks." Race picked up the cordless, and then snatched away the bagel Sophia was eating from her hands. She punched his shoulder. 

* 

Marco didn't comment about the decreasing quality of housing as they entered Spot's neighborhood, which really wasn't so bad. It wasn't the inner city ghetto most people assumed, it was sort of... a run down area between the city and the suburbs. Mostly houses, not large apartment buildings, though most of the houses were rented to a few families; some were smaller, single-family ones, though. Denise, Jack and Spot lived in the bottom of a two-family house, which was definitely enough space for the three of them. It was the first place he'd been where Spot had a room to himself. 

"This one," he mumbled to Marco, who pulled over to let him out. 

"Uh, Sean?" he called. 

"Yeah?" 

"Seriously--be careful; there are gonna be people watching and listening and stuff. I really, _really_ don't want to hear about you getting shot." 

"I don't want to _get_ shot," he answered, and shut the door behind him. 

Jack and Denise were waiting in the combined kitchen and dining room, Jack with a bowl of cereal in front of him, Denise eating oatmeal and drinking tea. He didn't really like the looks they gave him when he walked in. 

He wondered if that was how Race felt when he had to walk in to his house and confess he'd given in to his cravings. The looks weren't angry, exactly, just upset and a bit cold. 

"Sean," Denise said after an awkward quiet. 

"Denise--" 

"Don't you _ever_ do that again." 

"Jack started--" 

"I don't care _who_ started _what_, you don't run away from things when you're angry." 

Spot didn't respond. He should have been more angry than he was. But this actually had been Jack's fault; Jack had brought up Spot's father. He'd never done that before. And even though Jack _knew_ he'd gone too far, Spot doubted that his brother would apologize any time soon. Spot was reminded that people got angry at him more often than they liked him, and he did the same. So they didn't know when his feelings were hurt. 

God, he felt so goddamned wishy-washy. 

"You sure as fuck pulled a--" 

"Hey, I'll listen to Denise," Spot shot at Jack. "Fuck YOU." 

"SPOT--" 

"No, I mean that," he snapped. "SHE didn't deserve to have me disappear and to worry and I am sorry that I did it, but YOU--fuck you, Jack. I walked out so I wouldn't _kill_ you, you know that? Because I wanted to, I _really_ fucking wanted to." 

"Sean," Denise said. "That's... Be that as it may, you can't..." 

"I know." He sat down at the table. "I know, and I don't wanna get taken away either. I..." He hesitated. "I kind of like it here. You know, when Jack's not being a dickhead. And I was gonna try and get home by the morning, if we hadn't been mugged..." He trailed off. "Shit, Denise, I _am_ sorry." 

He realized abruptly he'd never apologized before. Well, not really anyway; never sincerely. He never cared enough to be sincere, and he wasn't going to say he was sorry if he wasn't. But he _was_ sorry he'd scared Denise, and he did feel bad about it. He wanted her to forgive him, and he wanted it enough to actually express it. 

Maybe Race was good for him. 

Or maybe Race was just making him into a pussy. Either way. 

Spot drew his legs up to his chest, and propped his chin on top of his knees. He didn't look at Denise or Jack. He sure as hell wasn't about to make any meaningful eye contact that wasn't with Race. 

"Thank you, Sean," Denise said, sounding very...odd. Spot doubted they'd expected him to apologize. 

"By the way, Jack, yeah, I'm not sorry for you." 

"Fuck you, I was just as worried as she was." 

"Like hell you were." 

"I WAS--" 

"STOP." Denise stood up, crossing her arms. "You two, I've had it up to _here_... I really have, you're going to have to learn to settle your arguments in an adult fashion, because swearing at each other isn't going to help any." 

Spot didn't say a word. Jack just mumbled under his breath. 

"Can I leave the room and expect I won't have to come back in here and pull one of you off of the other?" 

"He wishes." 

"Fuck YOU, Spot!" 

"STOP IT," Denise snapped again. 

There was another quiet. Spot shifted so he was sitting normally again, kicked the leg of his chair. Denise took and released a deep breath, trying to maintain her calm. 

"I will not have the two of you fighting," she finally declared. "Not if it's so bad Sean has to leave the house, Jack. I didn't take him in so he could be forced to leave." 

"But--" 

"No buts." She turned to Spot. "Sean, you _can not_ do that. You need to learn to handle anger, you need to learn how to fight with someone without _fighting_ someone. I realize that's hard for you, but if you're not willing to try then I don't know what to do." 

Spot nodded, feeling a little numb. 

"I don't know what the fight was about," she said. "And frankly, I don't care. Work it out." She gave them both serious looks. "And you're both grounded for a week; no phone, no TV, and no parties. Only friends' houses, not out with friends. Understand?" 

"But Friday, David and IÑ"

_"Jack," _she interrupted, then rolled her eyes. "Fine, you can go on your date on Friday."

"It's _not _a _date!"_ Jack objected, then saw the far too amused looks he was getting, and sulked, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat. 

"Got it?" Denise asked again.

They both nodded.

"Good, I'm going to get ready for work while you two figure things out." And with that, she left them to settle things, trusting them to behave like human beings. 

There was a long silence, and Jack was never good with long silences. 

"I know I started it." 

"Fucking right you did." 

"But I'm right. He's an asshole. Since you've been with him, nothing but bad things have happened. Look, you go to his house and you get MUGGED. This is a sign, Spot." 

"Yeah," Spot cracked his knuckles. "A sign for you to back the fuck off. It's not just what you said about Tony, you know." 

Jack paled. "...Yeah, I know that. But it's beside the point--" 

"No it fucking isn't." Spot pulled his knees down. "Your life was shit before Denise, I know that, but at least you fucking have SOMEONE. All I had was a crazy, pill popping old woman and a father who liked to..." Spot gulped, held himself back. He wasn't talking about that. "Fuck it, Jack. You brought back so many goddamn memories I wanted to punch you so hard." 

Jack kind of nodded a little. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I know--I mean, I _don't_ know what happened, you didn't tell me that much." 

"I don't think about it that much. It's just--shit, Jack; I can _talk_ to Tony, and he didn't get all fucking sympathetic when I told him about my parents or the other homes, he just let me TALK. No one else does, everyone tries to fix me or whatever, but I'm not fucking broken, I'm just..." 

Jack waited, not sure what to say. 

Spot shrugged a little. "So I am fucking broken, but he doesn't give a damn. And--and he's the only one who's ever just wanted to hang out with me and not _you_, because everyone else around here only puts up with me because of you." 

Wow, he was really opening up today, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind. And he kind of wanted to beat the crap out of himself for it; he was Spot Conlon, and Spot Conlon did not talk about these things. 

But he'd been Sean Conlon for a lot longer than he'd been Spot, and Sean was a terrified, desperate little kid who needed someone to listen to him and... And Jack and Denise sort of actually maybe cared about him, so he could maybe actually trust them. A little. 

He could trust Jack enough to talk to him. 

He saw Jack wince slightly out of the corner of his eye. "Jesus, Spot, I'm an idiot sometimes. I let my temper get away from me...you know that Dutchy, and Itey and Blink and Davey, and fuck, even Mush, they're your friends because they like you. Come on, you know that." 

Spot, still contemplating his self worth (and estimating zero) didn't respond. Jack sighed. 

"Fuck," he said. "Sean. Sean, I'm stupid, okay? That's not true, what you said, or what I said then. I'm serious now, they're YOUR friends too. They all have separate relationships with you, they all--" 

"They all think I'm a fucking asshole because I can't do anything but hate everything," Spot spat. "Okay? I know that, stop trying to pep me up." 

"I'm not!" Jack stood, and crept over to where Spot was sitting on the couch, taking a tentative seat next to him. "Christ, Sean, I'm not, okay? I'm really not. We all CARE about you. 

"Not just Mom, not just me, and not...not just Tony." Jack lowered his head, and Spot had to hand it to him for swallowing his pride for a moment. "Stop it, okay? You're scaring me. You've always been okay before. Well...okay with being fucked up. But I'm fucked up too, we all kind of are, but you've got us at your back, you know people care, so it's alright to be a little screwed when people care about you." 

"No one DOES." Spot turned on him, snarling. "Okay? You do because you goddamn HAVE to, you got stuck with it, and really, I feel sorry for you because caring for me really has to suck." 

"Would you STOP IT--" 

"No!" Spot backed away from him, into the arm of the couch. "No, no I won't because I want to but I've never done this before and I'm fucking overflowing and I CAN'T stop!" 

Jack didn't know how to respond to that, so he said nothing, and the flow of Spot's words had finally ebbed, at least for a few minutes. Finally he threw an attempt at a wry look at Jack, though really he just looked miserable. "I'm way more fucked up than you knew, Jacky boy." 

Jack nodded. "Yeah, you are. But you're still my brother and I care about you anyway. And NOT," he said, before Spot could talk, "_because_ you're my brother, it's because I just do. You're my friend. And you're everyone else's friend too, or you would be, if you'd let them be your friends." 

Spot swallowed. "I want to, Jack," he admitted softly. "I just--I fucking don't know how. I don't know how it works, I don't understand, I never..." He trailed off and gathered his courage again, took a deep breath. 

"When I was a kid, my parents wouldn't let me go to school, didn't want me talking to anyone. They finally did let me in fifth or sixth grade, 'cause my fucking high school drop out mom couldn't home school me past there, and my dad was..." There really were no words to describe his dad, so he just continued. "And I'd never talked to anyone before except my parents. Like, ever. And I just--I mean, I don't know how--I fucking never learned how the hell people are supposed to talk or act or anything, I fucking don't get it." 

Jack kind of gaped for a minute. Then realized he shouldn't stare. "Oh," he said finally. "I didn't know." 

"No one does," Spot mumbled, now biting into his knuckle, gnawing at the flesh. "It's not exactly something I want to broadcast, but it's not like I want to be just this idiot in the dark anymore either, you know?" 

Jack shrugged. "I...don't, actually. I mean yeah, you know what my dad was like. But I dealt with it, I could talk to people about it. It's still there but at least I can mouth off and not...not get all..." Jack waved his hands about slightly, looking for his words. "Freaky." 

It was the wrong choice for his word search because Spot bit harder into his knuckle. "You know what? Forget it." 

"No." Jack shoved Spot's shoulder. "No, no seriously, Sean, go ahead. Talk, yell, punch me in the face, do anything because I don't fucking want to lose you to this." 

"You haven't exactly been doing a great job of keeping me, ass." 

Jack winced, and leaned back in his seat. "I deserved that." 

"Sure fucking did." 

Jack sighed. "You know, you piss me off sometimes, too." 

"Hey!" Spot snapped. "All I did was meet a fucking guy I like and--" 

"I don't just mean with Tony, dumbass!" Jack interrupted. "But no, I don't fucking like him or that you like him, but I'll fucking deal with that because I don't have a choice. I just mean..." 

"What?" Spot demanded. 

"You! You're fucking... You _do_ act like an asshole--" 

"Because I am--" 

"You're _not_, and we both goddamn know it," Jack snapped. "And it pisses me off when you treat me like shit because you can't deal and it pisses me off when you treat your_self_ like shit because you're not. And I don't know how to deal with you when you're like that 'cause you get fucking scary." 

"You think I can HELP it?" Spot snapped back. "I can't. How the hell am I supposed to act? I don't even know!" 

"Why the fuck NOT?" 

Spot was biting his tongue, Jack could tell. He did that when he wanted to start mouthing people off but knew that he shouldn't. Granted, that only happened when Jack absolutely _made_ him not mouth off. 

"You want some stories, Jacky, is that what you want?" Spot's voice, though it didn't crack, did certainly sound...odd. And unlike him. If he was going to talk like that, Jack didn't want him to talk. He knew that was unfair, but it was true. 

"What the hell do _you_ want?" He didn't expect an answer, but he didn't dare not listen when he got one. 

"I want--I fucking want _this_!" Spot yelled, gesturing around the room. "I want a mom who gives a shit and a brother I can fight with and a boyfriend I like and to have it be real but it's _just not!_ And I can't even fucking _make_ it real because I don't know how and I'm so goddamn sick of--" He stopped and inhaled sharply, and finally finished, "Of being fucked up. Of being me." 

Jack and Spot didn't say anything for a long time after that. Jack, at that moment more than any other, wished he was always the guy who said the right thing at the right time. But he wasn't. He could charm people's socks off, he could brighten someone's day, but this was different because it was his brother, and it affected him too because he cared about Spot so damned much. 

But Spot didn't know that. Spot didn't know anyone cared about him. And Jack didn't know how to let him know that they did. 

"Sean..." he said, turning to watch his brother, who was so skinny and pale and small that he wanted to fucking FORCE food into the guy. "Sean, I don't...I don't know what to do, but even if I did, it wouldn't go away in a day. You know that." 

Spot just nodded. 

"Sean?" 

He didn't say anything. 

"Sean?" 

Still nothing. Jack grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Sean, come on." 

Then Spot shuffled over and buried his head in Jack's shoulder. 

He wasn't crying; Spot Conlon did _not_ cry, not matter how much he sometimes wanted to. He just sat there, face buried in Jack's shirt, and began shaking ever so slightly, and finally murmured almost too softly to be heard, "Why me, Jack? Why did it happen to me...?" 

Jack awkwardly put an arm around Spot; he knew that saying, "There there, it'll be all right," would be no help, and besides that, would be a lie. So instead, he stayed silent, and let Spot just sit. It was almost like he _was_ crying; his shoulders were shaking, but there were no tears. Like he'd blocked the part of him that could cry out totally. 

Jack couldn't be sure, but he'd have bet anything that was Spot's father's fault. And at that moment, Jack knew what it was like to really want someone dead, because he knew that Spot had never been intended to be a shaking, vulnerable mess; Spot must have been meant for something better. Something he'd never get to be or to do, because he'd been too fucked up... 

"Shit," Spot finally muttered, straightening up, sort of. His shoulders slumped and his head drooped and he looked like he'd wilted somehow. "Shit, I--I'm sorry, forget I ever, that I just..." He couldn't speak coherently, couldn't form sentences. 

"It's okay," Jack said, sloppily putting his arm around Spot again, rubbing his back. "You don't have to talk, you don't have to be quiet, you don't have to fucking do anything, just...do what makes you feel better." 

Spot, still shaking, muttered out something, but Jack didn't hear it. "What'd you say?" 

"My..." Spot swallowed. "My notebook. I need to write or something, okay? I don't want anything but my notebook." 

Jack had to note that Spot was strategically avoiding the mention of Race, which was kind of sweet once he thought about it. 

"You wanna go get it and write for a bit?" 

Spot shrugged. 

"Anything else?" 

"...I want a cheeseburger." 

"Really?" Jack asked. 

"Yes." Spot looked up at him finally, and Jack was relieved, because this wasn't the fragile mess he'd just seen. The look in Spot's eye was... Well, not exactly _good_, but it was at least solid. "Go get me a burger, bitch." 

Jack shoved him a little, playfully, and stood. "So, we good?" he asked. 

Spot rolled his eyes. Yeah; he was either snapping back to normal quickly, or pretending he was. Which, Jack reasoned, would probably make him feel better in and of itself. Spot had to hate being so open about everything. 

"Spot," Jack muttered. 

"You sound like a woman." 

"...But?" 

"Fine, yeah; I forgive you for being a dickhead. Now go get me food." 

Jack half-laughed and went to do it, as Spot walked out to go find his notebook. And by the time he got back to the kitchen, Jack and Denise were both there. Cooking cheeseburgers with a plate all set out for him. He gave them a weird look. 

"I'm not sure I can handle the 'one big happy family,' thing." 

"Well, you're no Greg Brady," Denise answered, passing him ketchup. 

"That's Tony," Jack answered, taking a big bite, as Spot sat down. "Well, sort of. He's like, the R-rated version with those sisters of his..." 

Spot gave them a confused look, and began to eat, and wondered if this was normal. Somehow, he doubted it. But it didn't seem that bad, either way. 

"So..." Denise said, plopping a dollop of mustard on her burger. "I see my boys sorted everything out." 

"How do you figure?" Spot asked, pouring ketchup onto his food.

She smiled, and ruffled the hair of both of them simultaneously. "You hugged." 

Spot snorted and Jack turned red. "Mom, shut up." 

Denise just smiled, and checked her watch. "Burgers for breakfast, how nutritious. Both of you ready to get going to school? Sean?" 

Spot, oddly enough, really just wanted to get into the van and write the whole ride to school, write during all of his classes (like he usually did) and act like a shit head to the teachers. He wanted to pretend he'd never broken down. 

And he was going to. For now. 

"Yeah, yeah, I can go," he said, chewing and chewing his food before actually swallowing. Jack grinned and started to do rude patterns with the ketchup on the meat. 

"How about your injuries?" Denise asked. 

"My shoulder hurts." Spot shrugged. "That's all, and my jaw's like...I dunno, it doesn't hurt anymore, so it's not like it'll affect my school work." 

"Like you do any." 

"Shut up Jack.' 

"'Shut up, Jack,'" Jack mimicked, and Spot kicked him under the table. 

"I just gotta change, 'cause these clothes are nasty." 

"Yeah, you do kind of smell." 

"Shut up, Jack." 

"I can't believe Tony didn't loan you something. Are you two supposed to be in wuuuuuuv?" 

Spot kicked him harder, and finally muttered, "Nothing of his would fit." 

"What?" 

"_He's_ too short and _I'm_ too skinny, so nothing of his would fit." 

"So Sean," Denise said, "tell me about this Tony." 

Spot almost choked on his burger. 

He flipped the bird at Jack, who just grinned cheerily, indicating 'my work is done' in his face. Spot glared. "Well?" Denise asked. "Jack doesn't like him; all I've heard is HIS side of the story." 

"Jack's an idiot," Spot said simply. "Tony's...really great." 

"That all you're going to say?" 

"What do you want me to say?" 

"Come on." Denise leaned in. "Give me the goods." 

She did that all the time. Like when Spot got into a fight at school and Denise had said Jack told her Spot had 'made it' with the most popular girl in school. Spot liked how Denise hadn't even blinked when he told her it was to get back at a hot guy he wanted to fuck ten times more than his girlfriend. 

He liked Denise. 

"I dunno..." Spot mumbled, kind of embarrassed. "I figure we'll be together for awhile, so..." 

"So..." 

"I dunno." Spot ate another mouthful. "He's... Hot." 

"Lovely." 

"He _is_. And he drums and he cooks and hates getting up in the morning." He really wasn't sure what to say. 

"And he's an asshole," Jack muttered. 

"Shut UP, he is n--okay, he is, but only until you get to know him." 

Denise looked amused. "Sounds like he'd fit in around here, then." 

"Fat chance," Jack muttered. 

Denise sighed. "I hate to ask this, Sean, but I'm pretty much required to. Does he have a drug problem?" 

Spot glared at Jack, who shrugged innocently. "I was just telling her what happened with Dutchy; don't blame me." 

"I fucking think I _will_," Spot answered. 

"Sean?" Denise asked. 

"Uh, he's... That is, yeah. But not at the moment. He used to, and when he and Dutchy got together there was a problem, but he's okay now. As okay as he can be, I guess." 

Denise raised her eyebrows as she poked ice cream around her bowl. "Well, you can't expect me to jump right onboard his fan club, can you?" 

"See?" Jack grinned. Spot glared. 

"_But_," she added. "I do like Dutchy. You know I do, I love Dutchy, he's a great kid, and I'm glad he's getting help. And if Tony had the will power to deal with his problem back then... Than I respect that. Of course I don't love that he slipped up, but I do understand that a cocaine addiction is a powerful thing, and not to be taken lightly." She patted Spot's shoulder. "You just take care of yourself, alright? AND I'd like to meet him before making any judgments." 

"You want to _what_?" Spot asked, startled. 

"Meet him," she answered. "If you two are going to be together for awhile, I'd eventually meet him anyway, wouldn't I?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"So, have him over for dinner or something," she said. 

Jack made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "Hey, Spot, remember what happened when Tony had us over for dinner?" 

"Not his _fault_," Spot snapped. 

Denise gave them an odd look, but neither volunteered an explanation. Finally Spot answered, "I like him, so he's not just going to go away, Jacky boy." 

"Yeah, well, I _don't_ like him, so I think I'll act like a dick. That's what he did, isn't it?" 

"It's what his _dad_ did, so fuck you." 

"Sean; Jack." Denise plopped her hamburger down on the plate. "Enough. Jack, I'm sure you're more than familiar with how much Spot hates Sarah, but he deals with it." 

"That's different." 

"How?" she demanded, then continued, "Never mind, I don't care. I have to go to work, unless you need me, Sean." 

"Uh, nope." 

"Okay, then, we'll go through what happened this evening. But Sean," she said, standing up, "I'm glad you're home." 

He ducked his head a little and played with his now cold burger. "Yeah," was all he said. 

"Be good, kids." She put her dishes in the sink, waved, and left. 

"Yeah, Spot, be GOOD," Jack griped, angry that his side hadn't been taken in the Race Dislike War. Spot just chewed.

"Sarah is a stupid, ignorant, insecure brat who crashed your last car and didn't tell you for a week and a half. Also, she gets David mad at you all the time." 

"That doesn't count for anything." 

"Sure does." 

"Sure does NOT." 

"Drive me to school." 

"Go change, smelly whore." 

Spot stood, finishing up his meal, and then grinning down at Jack. "Hey, Jacky." 

"What." 

"I thought you were straight?" 

"I am." 

"Then why are you dating a man?" 

Jack attempted to squirt some ketchup at his brother, but instead the bottle made a rude noise and the ketchup fell with a splat to the floor. Spot smirked and Jack was not fazed. "I am not." 

"Uh huh." 

"Would you just lay off? David and I are _not_ dating, we're _not_ in love, we're _not_ soulmates, and we don't want each other. We're both straight, and you goddamn well know it!" 

"Uh huh." Spot smirked, and shoved a cloth at Jack to clean the ketchup off of the floor. They'd had this conversation what felt like several hundred times. "I'm just saying, look at your friends. We're not gonna judge you when you come out." 

"I'm not in the closet!" 

"You so are." Spot decided he was done with his food, though he hadn't finished it. Not that it was surprising, given he'd already had breakfast, and he just didn't eat that much. "I'm gonna go change." 

"Yeah, you smell," Jack agreed. 

"And you are totally gay," Spot answered as he walked out of the room, leaving his dishes for Jack to deal with. 

*

B: See? You've all accused us of hating Jack, when secretly we like him and he's been a nice guy all along. Just... a kind of a mean nice guy.

F: He's a darling. He IS, damn it. WE HAVE LASAGNA IN THE FRIDGE AND I DIDN'T KNOW. Mrs. Higgins would be proud.

B: Funkie likes to change topics with no warning.

F: I like to think it's charming...

B: That's one word for it.

F: I AM. Ssh! Now, you better all think twice before hating Jack. But we understand; he was an ass for a good while. Speaking of ass, Marco has a hot one.

B: Oh dear god, yes. Marco is beautiful. And stupid. Big and dumb, just the way I like 'em. Um... Did I say that out loud?

F: I'll make a note that B is unhealthily obsessed with Marco.

B: Well... not _unhealthily_... ::cough:: Um, anyway. Denise rocks too. We like her.

F: The next chapter has some juicy tidbits. Can anyone spell Blink and Spot talk about S-E-X?

B: Ooh la la. It's super gay best friend bonding hour in the next chapter. Because sometimes, pretty gay boys need to gossip like fourteen year old girls.

F: We were kind of deliriously hyper and horny when we wrote it and it came out sounding like a slumber party. But in a good way.

B: That's what happens when you do all of your writing at 5 AM.

F: Not to mention totally wired from all the like, cookies and pop.

B: I have Coca Cola in my veins where blood used to be.

F: My heart? Totally replaced by a colossal cookie. They sell them in our cafeteria. They're HUGE.

B: Nothing in our cafeteria is edible... But ANYWAY, major thanks to The Second Batgirl who has taken on the ridiculously insane task of beta-ing this monstrosity, because Funkie and I keep having people take off their shirts twice or being in two rooms at once.

F: We almost had a colossal (cookie...) mistake of Spot eating something wrong in this chapter, BUT I SAVED THE DAY. Well...B did, but I take credit 'cause I'm a jerk.

B: But now I no longer have to do that. Because we have a beta reader. Who rules. And you should all go read her stuff now.

F: TSB = BEST PERSON EVER

(B: Following closely behind her his Hilby, who gave us the R Rated Greg Brady line in a review, which made us laugh so hard we couldn't _not_ put it in somewhere.) But anyhoo, this chapter celebrated with matzah, because it's Passover. Sadly, no cookies.

F: And lasagna. LOTS of lasagna.

B: Which is not kosher. But don't tell our parents that. ;)

F: No, it is! We got it from the kosher deli.

B: Really? ...DUDE, longest AN _ever._

F: Yes, really. Isn't that awesome?? ...We're just kind of rambling now.

B: And so with that, good night!

F: Byeeeeeeeee!


	15. Girl Talk

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

My salsa makes all the pretty girls dance

And want to take off their underpants

My salsa

My salsa

-D12 (featuring Eminem), _My Band_

**_Chapter Fifteen: Girl Talk_**

"Get your feet off of my freaking dashboard."

"Jack," Spot started. "Your van is _ugly_. So, my pretty feet," Spot held up his foot, "will improve the ugly dashboard."

"Will not."

"Will _so_ do."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

Spot stuck his tongue out and stomped his feet on the dashboard. "Aha. Ass."

"Am _not_," Jack snapped, and ended up taking his foot off of the clutch early and pulling the keys from ignition; of course, the big ugly van stalled. "Damnit!"

"Haha."

"You are _such_ an ass," Jack muttered.

"It's part of my charm."

"I'm picking up Sarah."

"Oh, fuck you."

"She gets shotgun."

"Fuck you BOTH."

"That's what you get for scuffing my dash."

"Your van _is_ ugly," Spot muttered. "And so is your girlfriend, so _there_."

"Spot, you think _all_ girls are ugly. You're _gay_."

"At least I'm not in denial."

"I am not in love with David!" Jack half-yelled.

"You brought up David, not me..."

"Shut up," he muttered. "If you say _one more word_ about that with Sarah in the car..." Jack pointed his finger at Spot. "I'm _killing_ you."

"I won't say anything if you let me keep shotgun."

"...FINE."

"HAH."

"But I swear to freaking god..." Jack muttered as he got out of the car and raced towards Sarah and David's house. Spot drummed his fingers along the dashboard as he waited, and soon the couple emerged, Sarah in all of her 'do I look fat? Are you sure?' insecure glory and Jack in all of his 'I don't know! No you don't!' glory as well.

As soon as Jack opened the door for her, Spot said, "Jack is gay with your brother."

"FUCKER."

"Yeah, I know," she agreed.

"SARAH!"

"Well, you kind of _are_, Jack. Fucking move, Spot, I get shotgun."

"Fuck _you_."

"Sorry, but I'd rather not get diseased. Didn't you run away or something?"

Spot started to reply, and only stopped when Jack elbowed him hard enough to actually leave him breathless.

"That's gonna bruise, you fucker!" he yelled at Jack instead.

"Move," Jack ordered.

"Fuck you; I'll get a ride with Itey and Dutchy." Spot jumped out of the van and started down the block, waving as he saw his other friend's car approach, and it obligingly stopped to pick him up.

"Spot, Jesus, have you talked to Jack?" Itey demanded as Spot got in. "Tell me you've been home already. Please tell me you've been home."

"I--"

"YOU BIG FUCKER!" Dutchy exclaimed, throwing his arm around Spot, but laughing, so Spot knew he wasn't serious. "God, where the hell did you go? I remember the last time you ran away, we found you downtown in a huge garbage bin. You _stunk_."

"Seriously--" Itey broke in, but Dutchy kept going.

"Oh oh, and you had this banana peel on your back pocket for like an hour, but we never told you."

Itey rolled his eyes, about to speak, but then Blink saw Spot from half a block down the road from them. "SPOT!"

"How the hell can a guy with one eye have such good fucking vision?" Spot demanded, as Itey pulled over to let Blink in. This was the way they usually rode to school, when Spot rode with them; Itey drove, because it was his car, and Blink was always shotgun, and he and Dutchy would sit in the back and make fun of each other.

"SPOT you ASSHOLE where the hell were you?" Blink demanded.

"Tony's." He paused, while everyone stared at him.

"ITEY, ROAD," Blink finally yelped after a second, and Itey yanked his vision back to where it belonged. "Spot. Talk. Now. Tony's, _seriously_?"

"Yes, _seriously_, where did you people _think_ I'd go?" He rolled his eyes.

"I called Sophia at least ten times yesterday," Itey answered. "To find out if you were there, and she never answered her phone."

"You could have called TONY."

"He DID," Blink said. "No answer there, either."

"Must have been in his car," Spot answered. "Got stolen."

"Okay, WHAT?"

Spot smirked for a second, and Dutchy whacked the back of his head. "Talk, fucker," he ordered.

It was a nice change from Jack and Denise, sort of. Because here he didn't have to be so damned sorry, and no one here was going to get all touchy-feeling about anything.

"Jack pissed me off so I left, went to Tony's, we went out to a movie. Got mugged walking back to his car. Spent the day in the hospital and police station and with his family, who were fucking FREAKED. Sophia probably forgot her cell in the craziness. His family is fucking INSANE."

Silence followed and then Itey eeped, "Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure."

"You could've CALLED us," Blink muttered. "Jesus."

"Why do you care?" Spot snorted.

"Um, because you disappeared without a word?" Itey suggested. "And that's kind of an asshole thing to do?"

"So? I'm an asshole, you know that already."

"Oh, please," Blink answered. "Don't give us that, seriously. You fucking SCARED everyone, you jerk."

"Yeah, right."

"Yeah, that IS right."

Spot rolled his eyes, and Dutchy whapped him upside the head again, this time for real, and it hurt. He turned towards Dutchy to glare, but Dutchy was already glaring at _him_. "Look," Dutchy said, breaking eye contact after a second because really, no one beat Spot in a glaring contest. "We can only have so many total fuck ups in our group of friends, and I TOTALLY called it with my coke problem, so you just fucking watch it."

Spot stared at him, his brow furrowed in slight confusion. He leaned back in his seat. "What the fuck is this, National Care About Spot Day?"

"Do you promise to stop it?" Itey asked.

"No."

"SPOT."

"What?"

"Please, PLEASE watch out, okay? Because you never let us look out for you, so it's kind of hard to know where you are or how you're doing. IF you won't let us do that, at least promise us you won't go get yourself gang raped or anything."

Another silence followed.

"Mmmm, gang rape."

"BLINK."

"Oh, come on, it had to be said."

"I'm telling Mush you said that."

"He'll _laugh_."

"He really won't."

Blink shrugged, and turned back to look at Spot. "Seriously, though. We were worried, and Jack was losing his mind. If something had happened to you, he'd have..." He trailed off.

"None of us would have known what to do," Itey finished. "I mean, we just almost lost Dutchy, and the thought of losing you on top of it..."

"Hey, in all fairness, you _didn't_ lose Dutchy," Spot said, smirking. "Because I have the best boyfriend ever."

Dutchy punched his arm. "Not the point, Spot," he said. "Just--we worried about you, okay?"

"We spent six goddamn hours looking for you," Blink griped.

"Why?"

"Because you're our FRIEND, damnit!" Itey snapped. "We CARE about you! Now shut up and--OH MY GOD IT'S EIGHT O CLOCK WE'RE LATE."

Itey jammed on the pedal and the car shot forward through traffic, and was answered by honks and various swears from seemingly innocent old people.

"Settle down, it's just SCHOOL."

"JUST SCHOOL? I'll let you know what's just school--I have to be successful and perfect so Mr. Higgins will keep letting me date Sophia or I'm just SCREWED--"

"He didn't have his coffee," Spot commented.

"Duh," Blink replied.

"Shutupshutupshutup!"

"I'm surprised he was as coherent for as long as he was," Spot noted.

"Well, he was worried about you, dumbass," Dutchy said.

"Aaaaaaaugh!" Itey turned the wheel wildly and they careened into the parking lot.

"Don't feel bad, Itey," Spot laughed as he got out. "Your girlfriend's dad can't get up with no coffee either."

"What?" The mention of Mr. Higgins startled everyone, but especially Itey.

"Yeah; Sophia was making fun of him for it this morning."

"I can't picture ANYONE making fun of him," Blink said. "I can't believe he let you stay the night."

"Me neither." Spot shrugged. "Seriously, the whole family is NUTS. Itey, just wait 'til you meet their cousin Marco--he's at least as overprotective as Tony was."

"Oh, god, not another one."

"And they're WORSE when they're together."

"How is that possible?"

"And--" Spot didn't notice he was babbling. "Maria is fucking annoying she kept trying to get me in trouble and Izzy--"

"Izzy?"

"Isabella, fuck ass," Spot said to Dutchy. "Anyway, Izzy kept defending me and getting Tony and Marco in trouble and it was kind of fun."

Silence followed. The blank, awkward kind, only Spot didn't notice it was awkward.

"Oh, and I saw Sophia in her pajamas."

Itey's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Really?"

"Sure did."

"What do they look like?"

He just started laughing.

"Tell me!" Itey demanded. "I just gave you a fucking ride to school, come _on_!"

"I'll think about it."

"SPOT!"

"Tell him, or I think his head might explode," Blink said.

"Though that would be kind of fun to watch," Dutchy noted.

"JACK!" Itey yelled towards where Jack was getting out of his car. "Your brother is being MEAN!"

"He does that," Jack yelled back.

"Like when he disappears without calling anyone?" Blink asked snidely, and smacked Spot, who smacked him back.

"Focus, please," Itey snapped. "Spot, pajamas."

"What?" Jack demanded, overhearing as they caught up to him and Sarah.

"Spot saw Sophia in her pajamas and won't TELL me about it!"

"He hasn't had his coffee, has he?" Jack mused. Dutchy shook his head, until Jack blinked and turned to Spot. "Wait, you saw Sophia in her pajamas?" Jack stared, and grinned. "Sweet, what was it LIKE?-OW."

Sarah, who was walking by with her backpack, punched him swiftly on the shoulder. "Aren't you walking me to my locker?"

Jack looked pained. "But Saraaaaahh...."

Sarah glared, twirled on her heel, and stormed off. Jack rolled his eyes. "We got in a fight on the ride here. Spot, you're too mean to her."

"Boohoo."

"Yeah, that's what I said. So she's mad. But that means" Jack rubbed his hands together. "Plenty of make up time coming up."

"Ew. Girls," Blink said bluntly.

"PAJAMAS. TELLING. NOW."

"Itey, get LAID."

"He's TRYING."

"Yeah, but he ain't gonna succeed." Spot grinned and Itey looked ready to murder him. Which was fairly amusing, because it was Itey, who always looked so _pleasant_. "Trust me, between Tony and Marco and her dad, you're _never_ gonna score."

"I am not TRYING to SCORE, I am trying to DATE her! And TELL ME NOW or I'll HURT YOU."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Sp-OT, tell meeEEEEEE."

"You're gonna make his day hellish, aren't you?" Dutchy asked. Spot nodded, and Dutchy started laughing. "You're _mean_."

"Yeah."

"SPOT!"

"I think it's worth it, though," he continued.

"SPOOOOOOOOOOT."

"He's going to be really annoying about this all day, isn't he?" Blink asked.

"That's my plan."

"But SPOT, I spent SIX HOURS searching for you yesterday! Come on..." Itey pouted.

Spot sighed. Okay; maybe Itey _did_ deserve it. "She was pretty cute. For a girl," he said finally.

Dutchy made an impressed whistle, and Blink folded his arms and made fake commentary. "You hear that, Frank? For a girl, he says!"

"I did hear, Robbie."

"But will he tell us the attire the lovely young woman was IN?"

"We'll just have to wait and _see,_ Robbie."

"Come on, was she half naked or not?" Jack broke in, and Itey smacked his shoulder. Hard.

"She was wearing huge pajama bottoms with ducks on them."

"....."

"....."

"And a hoodie. A big one."

"...That's so _cute_!" Itey gushed.

"And the ducks had different facial expressions."

"Um, why the hell did you notice that?" Jack demanded.

"Marco pointed it out, right before Izzy threw her oatmeal at him." He shrugged. "Like I said, the whole family is nuts."

"So cuuuuuuute."

"I think you broke Itey," Dutchy said.

"On the other hand, Tony sleeps in his boxers," Spot continued, and grinned.

"_Really_," Dutchy murmured. "Yeah, that would be kinda hot. He's pretty built."

Blink nodded his agreement, and Jack shook his head a little. "I just don't get it," he said. "I just DON'T."

"You'd like to see Davey in his boxers."

"I have, and funny how it didn't do anything for me, because I'm STRAIGHT."

"You so aren't." Pause. "And when the hell did you see _that_?"

"Because we were having a sleepover!"

Spot seemed to working something out in his head, then, "Wait, doesn't he sleep in your _room_ when you have sleepovers?"

"Yeah. So?"

"And he's only in boxers."

"So what?"

Spot smirked and then all of the others (minus Itey, who was still suffering from serious Sophia addiction) hid their smiles and started walking towards the school without a word.

"What?" Jack asked, trailing after them. "No, seriously, what? What is it?"

"Nothing."

"No, come on Spot, tell me!"

"Forget it, Jack." Blink threw an arm around Jack's shoulder. "Just go to your happy place."

"And we all know where _that_ is!" Dutchy snickered.

Spot broke in with, "In his room."

"With David."

"In boxers," Blink added.

"Shut UP, it's perfectly NORMAL for guys to see each other in their underwear!" Jack insisted. Loudly. And at that precise moment a few of Sarah's cheerleader friends were walking by. They all eyed each other, and scampered off giggling.

"Great, now the whole _school_ will know and Sarah's gonna be mad at me."

"I bet Davey can make it better."

"SHUT UP."

"Hey, hey Spot?" Itey asked, coming up next to him. "What was her hair like?"

"...are you for real?"

"Just tell me!"

"You make me sick."

"Come ooonnn..."

"Go away!"

"Spoooooooooot."

"The idea was for me to annoy _you_, not the other way around!"

"Dude, that totally backfired."

"Shut up, Dutchy."

"Spot!"

He sighed. "Back in a braid. Kinda messed up; I think she slept with it that way and hadn't brushed it yet. Happy?"

Itey sighed happily. "She is _so_ wonderful. She braids her hair at night!"

"Which makes her wonderful... how?" Blink asked. "Is that some kinda straight guy thing I don't get?"

"No. I don't get it, either," Jack said.

"And I point out again, you are NOT straight."

Jack shoved Spot without breaking stride; Spot caught himself and shoved back.

"Careful; his boyfriend'll kick your ass," Blink warned.

"I could _so_ take David."

"David and I are! not! dating!"

They were cut off when the bell rang, and with that, Itey said goodbye to all of them and rushed off, before tripping over some guy's foot and flying to the floor. Dutchy sighed, shook his head, and walked slowly over to help him up while Jack, Spot and Blink continued the other way to get to class. Blink and Spot somehow had the exact same schedule, which almost never happened. Probably it was because they were both taking remedials for half of their classes.

"Study Hall," Blink supplied, and Spot groaned.

"Better than MATH," Jack spat, and shuddered. "I'm _so_ failing. I'm off. Have fun."

"Not as much fun as you and Davey have on your sleepovers, I'm sure."

"Fuck YOUUUU."

Blink and Spot had to laugh as they continued down the hall, slowly, to class. Blink, though he hid it well, was just as unmotivated as Spot was.

"So, you really okay?" Blink asked. "They didn't break any of your little ribs?"

"Nah. The gang rape thing? _So_ happened."

"Really?"

"I just wish."

"You WOULD, ya sicko." They settled in at their desks, and the homeroom teacher walked over.

"Mr. Conlon, I trust you have an excuse for yesterday?"

"Don't I always?"

"I mean a _written_ one, Mr. Conlon."

"Well, that's different."

The teacher sighed. "Sean; this makes six absences in the past month, two of which were already unexplained and unexcused..."

Spot rolled his eyes. "I got mugged; wanna see the bruises for proof?"

"No, I want you to give me a written excuse from class from your parents, just like everyone else."

Spot narrowed his eyes but didn't correct him; he _hated_ it when people assumed he lived with his parents. But he didn't hate it quite as much as he hated explaining he was a foster kid, so he didn't say anything.

"Sean?" the teacher demanded.

"I'll have it tomorrow."

"See that you do."

"So..." Blink mumbled as the teacher walked off. "You spent the night at Tony's?"

"Yeah...but I couldn't stay in his room. I swear to God his dad is onto us."

Blink nodded and Spot stared him down. "What?" Blink asked, laughing slightly.

"Since we're on the whole 'staying the night' thing, how far have you two gone?"

"Huh?"

"You and Mush, stupid."

"I know who you meant! I just..." Blink fiddled with his hands. "How far have you and Tony gone?"

"I asked you first."

"Screw you!"

"More like 'screw Mush'?" Spot pried.

"Well..."

"Have you?" Spot asked seriously, drawing doodles on his desk in permanent pen.

"...Sorta?" Blink asked. "I mean... Y'know, we have but not... really..."

"Right." Spot nodded. "Blow job."

"Yeah."

"Is he any good?"

"He's fucking _amazing_."

"I can't believe we're talking about this. We're gossiping like girls."

"Yeah, but you still have to tell me about you and Tony," Blink said. "'Cause I told _you_."

Spot shrugged.

"Come _on_. Tell me."

Spot wondered if anyone was listening in while he was in school, but figured he'd already said enough incriminating things that if someone was, he was caught; if not, it didn't matter. "Not that far," he said finally.

"Awwwwww."

"Shut _up_." He punched Blink in the shoulder. "So, are you two _planning_ to...?"

Blink nodded, blushing a little. Spot laughed, and Blink punched him _again_. He was getting hit almost as often as people were trying to comfort him today.

"You two?" Blink asked.

Spot shrugged. "One step at a time," he said.

Blink nodded. "Well, good luck."

And Spot asked curiously, unable to stop himself, "Hey, does Mush still have a thing for Tony?" Blink stared out the window for a second. Spot poked him in the ribs. "_Does_ he?"

"...Yeah," Blink said eventually. "But it's not a big deal."

Spot snorted, and flopped back in his seat. "What's _that_ mean? Come on, I mean, it doesn't really bother _me_, but how the hell are _you_ supposed to feel?"

"Spot, come on." Blink shrugged. "Tony was like, the whole first love thing. And the fact that you two suddenly became a couple when Mush was trying to convince himself that the only reason Tony never liked him was because he was straight...well..." Blink started adding to the inappropriately sexual doodle Spot had started on his desk. It was their thing. "He kind of took it personally."

"Blah blah blaaah." Spot made his right hand flop open and shut, making an unflattering imitation of Blink's speech as he added more...volume to the drawing and Blink waited to add the horns. "Okay, so we know how MUSH feels, how the fuck do YOU feel?"

"How do you feel?"

"I asked you first, ass."

"You have to tell me after."

"You didn't have these blow jobs anywhere I was, did you?"

Blink paused. "Wha--?"

"Never mind, tell me the other thing first."

"What...other..."

"The Mush liking Tony thing!"

Blink hesitated. "It kind of sucks. I mean... I know he _does_ care about me, and hey, he's with me and not Tony so I shouldn't... It shouldn't bother me. And I know that if you two broke up and Tony asked him, he'd say no, because he _does_ like me more, but... You know, it sucks, because I don't get to be his first love." He paused. "But seriously, he also knows he and Tony would be TERRIBLE together."

"They would," Spot agreed.

"So?" Blink demanded. "How do YOU feel about it?"

He shrugged and doodled some more. Blink stole the pen out of his hand.

"Fine," Spot mumbled.

"Ahahaa, no. I spilled. You spill."

"We are _so_ gay."

Blink smirked. "Come on, tell me."

He turned his back slightly, letting it crack, and grinning at Blink's wince. "My boyfriend's hot, what can I say?"

"...and?"

"And it's not GREAT, but he kissed ME first, so I'm sliding on that." He grabbed the pen back. "This needs to be bigger."

"Lay off on the spikes," Blink mentioned casually, then got back to the conversation at hand. "So...how serious are you?"

"What's that mean?"

"You know."

"I jerked him off in the bathroom, if that's what you mean."

"No." Blink paused, then wretched. "Oh GOD no."

Spot grinned. "It's funny because Tony moans so much that he had to bite into the towels."

"I so did NOT ask that."

"You did, earlier."

"I didn't want DETAILS."

"You so did."

"Shut up, gross." He shuddered. "I meant, like... I mean, are you two just in it for the sex? Or hand jobs, or whatever it is you're doing?--DON'T tell me!--or do you two... _Like_ each other?"

Spot smirked. "The world may never know. And I _like_ the spikes. And you _so_ want to know, because Tony's and my sex is _way_ hotter than yours and Mush's."

"It is NOT."

"It SO is."

"Shut UP."

"All you got on me is a blow job. And I'm _this_ close."

"SPOT."

"_What_?"

"Do you really, really like him, or is this just another one of your sex things? Because Tony's our drummer, and if you break up, it'd be super weird and you'd be a super bitch and so would he. SO..."

Spot poked Blink's eyepatch with the pen and then finished up their dirty doodle. Blink swore and punched him as Spot laughed. Then he stopped, because Blink had punched his shoulder, which was technically where he'd been hurt when they were 'mugged'.

"Ouch! Shit, that hurt!" Spot snapped.

Blink paused. "What? What'd I do?"

"That's where they freaking twisted my arm, ass." Spot loved lying. Maybe that was the good outcome of all this.

"God, sorry!" Blink patted his arm oddly. "Really, though, the biggest loss is the car."

"I know." Spot pretend rolled his arm around slightly. He deserved an Oscar. "Yeah, but we won't be breaking up any time soon, so don't worry about it."

Blink grinned. "Awww, Spotty's in wuuuuuuuuuuv."

"Shut _up_," Spot snapped, which he was aware was not a denial. Because he was in wuuuuuv. Well, love.

"Oh, and it wasn't just _a_ blowjob, so long as we're competing," Blink added.

"We're competing?" Spot asked, then laughed. "God, we _so_ are."

"Yeah. Man, if Dutchy had a boyfriend, things would be _really_ interesting."

"Or if Jack and David admitted they're both gay?"

Blink paused. "You really think they are?" he asked.

"YES."

"Yeah, me too. Just checking."

"And Dave would be so much better than Sarah. I _like_ David."

"Don't tell Tony that."

Spot punched him.

Blink was observing their drawing, and nodded in satisfaction as he gave it a title. "'Marcus The Rampant Greek Man'."

Spot burst out laughing and Blink scribbled out Marcus's name above the doodle. "So...come on, give me a lowdown."

"What?" Spot asked, still laughing. "What are you talking about?"

"SILENCE!" The teacher called from her desk. "Mr. Conlon!...Mr. Conlon's friend!"

"I'm touched, I've only gone to this school two years longer than you have," Blink muttered, then went back to the topic. "Mushee, for instance, when he's all riled up and ready to let go, he punches me."

"...isn't that called 'sadism'?"

"NO! NO no, he just gets his fists all balled up and kind of punches things. It sounds weird, but it's not." Blink shrugged and bit into the pen lid. "You?"

"Uhhhh." He paused. "Me? Or Tony?"

"Tony, ew. God, I don't want to know what _you_ do."

"You so want me."

"In your _dreams_, Spot."

"You so do."

"Whatever. Come on, juicy details. You're my only gay friend who's currently actually scoring."

"Poooor Dutchy. When was the last time....?"

"Other than... Whatever you two did that I don't want to know about? Three months ago, with a _girl_."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, well, he seems to like them. I don't get it. So details."

"You've got a one track mind."

"Sure do."

Spot shrugged. "I mentioned he needed to bite a washcloth, right? The guy is _loud_."

Blink grinned. "_How_ loud?"

"How about how _not_ loud." Spot leaned forward, lowering his voice; people were starting to stare at them, but Spot was sure it was because of how loudly he'd been laughing before. Besides, the whole school knew he was gay. "I don't even think he knows he does it, but he fucking starts murmuring in Italian all over the freaking place, and then the moans start and the only way to get him to shut up is to stop or smother him."

"...I'm assuming you--"

"I don't do either." Spot observed Marcus and added some dialogue to his shirt 'Fuck You'. "Look, Marcus has my shirt. He spent the night."

Blink bit back a snort and checked to make sure the teacher wasn't watching. "So, he talks in Italian on purpose."

"Sometimes to turn me on and sometimes he doesn't even know he's doing it." Spot grinned. "What else does Mushee do, eh? I keep picturing him as the innocent little school boy, with his erotic little uniform that he doesn't know looks hot on him."

"Don't check out my boy."

"Everyone does." Spot nudged him. "If you fucking tell anyone I was _giggling_ about this with you, you're dead."

"Back at you!" Blink snapped. Then blushed.

"So?" Spot demanded.

"Mush and I work out together," Blink said finally.

"That's _really_ gay."

"That's the _point_."

Spot shrugged. It probably _was_ the point. "So? Spill."

"Public gym." Blink coughed. "_Public_ gym."

"Oh shit, you mean the two of you--in _public_?!"

"Well, we got to the bathroom first," Blink said. "It was hard, though, 'cause damn we were, uh..." He trailed off. "Ready to go," he finished lamely.

"Who knew lifting weights could be so erotic?" Spot laughed and began to give Marcus a barbell, because making Blink blush was always fun.

"_We_ did. That was the point. I'd bet him he'd want to jump me and..."

"Won?"

"Lost." He sighed. "Other way around; he gets _really_ focused when he works out."

"So you dragged him to the nearest bathroom stall."

"...And then the shower."

"That is _gross_."

"He was afraid we'd get caught and he'd lose his club membership. But I'm just saying, you and Tony should try working out together sometime, if you're _that_ desperate for action."

"Aha, yeah, me, working out." Spot coughed. "Note my enthusiasm. I'd die. He's like the freaking Hulk only short and not bulky."

"Oh GOD, Marcus doesn't need--"

"Oh yes he _does_."

"Okay okay, so anyway. If you'd believe it or not, the second time he...well yeah, worked his magic on--"

"On Little Blinkee?"

"GOD." Spot started laughing again. "So the second time was in a stall. And it was hot because he was hurrying it up and being really really rough because he was scared we'd get caught any second."

"Mush?" Spot snorted. "Rough, right, I'll add that to my list of bullshit. Right under me working out."

"He didn't do it on purpose though, so it worked." Blink grabbed the pen and added a Chef's hat to Marcus. "By the way, Tony cooking? Hot."

"Get yer own pen," Spot snapped, grabbing his back. Blink did so, searching through his pockets. "I know, he's a fucking god."

"Now, tell me more."

"Ya know, I kinda gotta wonder who has this desk after me," Spot noted, as Blink produced a pen.

"C'mon; more. We've got, like, half an hour still."

Spot shrugged a little. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

Blink paused, then grinned. "How big is he?" he asked.

"What? Oh you are fucking KIDDING me," Spot yelped, and then looked up to see everyone was staring at him. "That is _so_ not--I didn't _measure_, God."

"...but?" Blink asked.

"Let's just say he's built _there_, too."

Blink laughed and began adding details to Spot's artwork.

"What about Mush?"

Blink stopped drawing and smiled lustfully, with a slight daze added to the grin.

"Ah...somehow I'm not surprised. Mush is hot. Very hot. He deserves a TV show. And it'll just be about how hot he is."

"Don't I know it." Blink went back to Marcus. "But god, yeah...he's doing well in that department. Oh oh." Blink grinned. "Guess where he blew me once?"

"This is getting far too fucking casual."

"Shut up, guess where?"

"...the garden?"

"At work!" Blink grinned. "He was signing out and I came to pick him up and we went to the washroom. We were so proud of ourselves."

Spot laughed. "Man, I need a fuckin' job."

"...To have sex at?"

"No, because I'm _broke_. I mean, I'm dating Tony and I feel kinda... Guilty, ya know? 'Cause he pays for _everything_."

"Well, he can _afford_ to."

"Still, though. It just sucks."

"Hey, cheer up. You've got a sugar daddy."

"So do _you_."

"Yeah, but Mush's family is less _obscenely_ wealthy. I get the feeling Tony's family is pretty, uh..."

"Yeah, they are. Man, you should see their fucking DVD collection, it's like a video store."

"Tony's gotta have a _great_ CD collection," Blink noted.

"Fuck me, I never even _checked_ that!" He paused. "He gave me a handjob in the backseat of his car, I'm gonna fucking _miss_ that thing if they don't find it."

Blink looked like he was about to choke. "WHAT was that about this being too casual?!"

"Well, you seemed interested."

"Yeah, but--damn, that car _was_ hot."

"I fucking _know_ it."

Blink laughed. "The backseat of Mush's car is really uncomfortable."

"You'd know?"

"Hell yeah." He grinned. "That's why we haven't done it YET, either his folks are home or my dad is home, and the backseat needed to be vacuumed and anyway, when you get sweaty you stick to the leather."

"The downside of dating rich guys with nice cars," Spot agreed, and put what he thought would be a finishing touch on Marcus.

"Yeah--but Dad's gonna be gone this weekend for a high school reunion, SO..." Blink grinned. "You're gonna have some catching up to do."

"Yeah? Well, one of the two of us here is a virgin right _now_ and it sure ain't _me_."

Blink poked him with his pen, leaving a nice stripe down his arm. "Yeah, you and Jessica, I can not BELIEVE... Man, you got your ass kicked for that."

"It was worth it."

"Was she... good?"

"Ew, no. Gross, she's a _girl_. But there was this guy in my last school..." He shrugged. "That was way better."

"You've had sex with a guy before?"

Spot shrugged again.

"Wow...well, how was it? Did it hurt?"

"I was doing all the work."

"Oh."

"So no; it rocked. But he dumped me two days later. 'Yeah, Sean? I'm not gay, I'm sorry.'"

Blink whistled. "Ultimate rejection..."

"Tell me about it."

"When you and Jessica had sex, did you actually...you know, or did you fake it?"

Spot snorted, and scuffed the back of Blink's head. "OW."

"I NEVER fake it," Spot said proudly. "I had sex with Jessica Craig and she fucking came _twice_."

"Did not."

"No, serious."

"Really?"

"I had to pretend she was someone else though." Spot made a grossed out noise. "God, gross...think of Tonyyyyy."

Blink laughed. "So, what, all he does is moan loud and whisper in Italian? What else does he do?"

"Haven't you had enough?"

"Don't you want to get your mind off of sex with a girl?"

Spot nodded, and then starting coloring the rubber bottoms of his sneakers. "He arches his back a lot...and he has like, the worst fucking restraint _ever_. It's hilarious. I could touch him and he'd go nuts. He's been suffering from denial for way to long and I'm just too fucking hot. We need to find a place to fuck."

"Why not his house?"

Spot snorted.

"Oh...never empty."

"EVER." In a matter of speaking...

Blink thought. "Uuuh...his car...oh wait, no, sorry. Must bring back painful memories. Well, of the car being stolen, not the events IN the car."

"Those were hot," Spot supplied, writing in 'Spot is fucking hot!' on his shoe. "Look, self-promotion!" He stuck his leg out.

"Gimme, _I_ want some." Blink grabbed the pen.

"Use your own!"

"It ran out..."

"Now you know how Mush feels."

Blink thought about that for a second, then kicked Spot's leg. "ASS." Spot was laughing. "That was such a good fucking burn!"

"I know!"

"God, we're the gayest people ever. I like how study hall is Super Gay Gossip Hour."

"Yeah; it's fun. We need to get Dutchy in on this. I wanna hear about him whoring himself out for coke."

"You _would_."

"I _do_." Spot waited impatiently while Blink began drawing on his own shoe. "Copy cat."

"So tell me more."

"YOUR turn," Spot objected. "I just told you about the control thing."

"God, when you go down on him you know he's gonna lose it in--" he stopped. "Nope, too dirty for study hall. He so _is_, though, if he's got such," he smirked, "bad restraint."

Spot punched him. Hard. "Pervert."

"I'm so _right_!"

"Give me my fucking pen back!" He snatched the pen away from Blink and began to draw a spider web in another corner of his desk. "And talk. It's _so_ your turn."

"Ught. Well, I met Mush's mom, finally."

"Yeah?"

"Ooooh yeah. She kept trying to set me up with his cousin, like, 'PLEASE be straight, Ryan, please, god, let you NOT be his boyfriend!' And finally he was just like, 'Mom, Ryan is gay. Like me, remember?'"

"...And?" Spot asked.

"She ran out of the room."

"Are you SERIOUS?"

"Yep. God, Mush looked like he wanted to DIE, I felt so bad for him."

"Jesus...no kidding."

"Yeah, it wasn't good. They're nice enough about it I guess, they just pretend he's Mr. Perfect. Which he is, but they think gayness isn't perfect." Blink shrugged.

"Welcome to our world!" Spot announced. "Ding ding. Izzy is cool about it though; she's always trying to find ways for us to be alone together without being caught."

"I just suggest washrooms." Blink shrugged. "Serious, because who can see you in a washroom? No one."

Spot thought about that, and realized it worked for this case as well; really, he doubted the mob watched bathrooms. Or maybe they did, but not the INSIDE.

"I want Tony _right_ now," Spot groaned. "Serious."

"Mush also gasps a lot," Blink added. "Little sharp ones, it's so cute and hot at the same time."

"The problem with washrooms is that you'd have to go in _together_," Spot mused, mostly to himself. "People would notice that."

"Nah; we're _gay_. People forget that we aren't _actually_ women, so going to the bathroom in pairs is fine."

"It's really not." Because the mafia _would_ notice that.

"Suit yourself, I'm just sayin'. Hey; they've got a day off school next week for conferences or something, I'm dragging Mush here with me. _Totally_ having sex in the bathroom."

"_Gross_." Pause. "So he gasps?"

"Oh yeah. What else about Tony?"

"Jesus, we haven't been together all that long, we..." He paused. "He's got REALLY nice arms from all the drumming. _Damn_."

"Awwww."

"Shut up, he _does_."

"I know, it's just cute, 'cause you're... _You_, you hate everything, but suddenly there's Tony and you're noticing things like his hot arms and find _cooking_ a turn on. It's so... Not you."

"I don't hate everything, Blink," Spot said softly.

Blink glanced up at him from his shoe, an eyebrow raised. "What'd...what'd you say?"

"Nothing, forget it."

"No, wait, I totally just said something asshole-ish and didn't notice." He squeezed Spot's arm. "...sorry?"

Spot, not wanting to, had once again shown more of his 'pussy self' which he had labeled the way he'd acted around Jack that morning. Really, he liked his pussy self a lot better than his regular self, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"Nah." Spot shrugged, finishing up his shoe and starting on the other with the new pen he'd found. "I _don't_ though."

"Well, you don't--"

"Always act like it. I know. I never act like it. Tony scratched me." Spot pulled the shoulder of his t-shirt down a bit, showing off a red mark. "See?"

Blink observed. "I always pictured you as the rough type."

"Out of the two of us, I so am. I bite him all the time."

"Hence your nickname."

"Abso-fucking-lutely." He grinned. "He _likes_ it, though. He just doesn't want to admit it."

Blink paused. "Seriously; I know you're not as much of an asshole as you act like."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Don't _whatever_ me; if you can tell me the intimate details of your sex life, you can _talk_ to me. You and Jack got into a fight, or what?"

"Yeah, but look--look, I already had to go through the stupid fucking emotional apology once today, and it's only eight thirty, I'm fucking _not_ doing it again." He paused. "I bite; Tony _licks_."

"Ooh, hot."

"Damn right." Spot looked at Blink again, rolled his eyes, and gave Blink's knee a slight, friendly grab. "Okay okay, I can talk to you, Jack was being a dick. End of story?"

Blink winked. "End of story. So, when we talk BITE, how much exactly do you bite, as opposed to just suck?"

"Oh, I _bite_."

"And he?"

"Moans loud, talks in Italian, licks me and arches his back." He paused, thought, and added, "And has nice arms. Soon as this period is done, I'm gonna go jerk off in the bathroom."

"Skip math?"

"Gee; which is better, math or masturbation?"

"Dude, would it be creepy if I was jerking off in the stall next to you?"

_"Yes."_

"Damn." Blink laughed. "You're gonna need to copy my notes again, huh?"

"Your notes are totally illegible anyway, not like it'll do me any _good_."

"Fuck you, I was offering to be nice!"

Spot said nothing, just began to absently add a collar and leash to Marcus's getup, which made Blink laugh again.

"Who's holding the leash?" he asked.

"Haven't decided yet." But Spot didn't get a chance to, because the bell rang, and he knew that the drawing would have been totally erased by the next day. "I'm off to go have fun."

"Fuck _you_," Blink answered, and smacked the back of his head.

Spot started towards the washrooms, seriously, and Blink had to hand it to him; he didn't think ANYONE planned on jerking off in a school washroom. But this was Spot. Spot did lots of things.

Unfortunately, Itey was walking by them and gasped as he saw Spot walking off.

"SPOT. You have CLASS. If you fail you're screwed!" Itey grabbed Spot by the earlobe. "I had to torture myself teaching you ALL the material of Linear Equations last month, in one night, so I'm not doing it again."

"Whine whine," Spot griped. "Go get laid and leave me alone."

"Yeah, you'll be saying that when you need help in math again." Itey shoved him at Blink. "Make sure he doesn't wander off, Blinkee." Then Itey went into his class.

Blink burst out laughing and Spot punched him, but it was an affectionate punch. It was weird; he'd never thought about it before, but he _did_ like Blink. They hung out, they failed classes together, they fucked around in study hall, and talked about things he couldn't discuss with Jack because... Jack was great, but not so much into talking about boys. Because Jack liked _girls_.

Spot still didn't understand that, and had to remind himself that technically, he was in a minority.

He could talk to Jack about almost anything else, though. He'd proved that to himself that morning already, and Jack... Really _was_ like a brother to him. Which was just weird, because he'd had five or six foster brothers before, and he'd hated them all. But he cared about Jack.

And... It was so odd to think about, he realized as Blink dragged him into the room. The math teacher raised an eyebrow, and looked kind of confused, as they'd never _both_ showed up on _time_ before. He ignored it and went back to his thoughts.

The first weekend he'd been at Denise's, only a week after he'd met Jack's friends, he and Dutchy had gotten totally drunk together. And screwed around, which was actually how he'd gotten his nickname--nothing came from it, of course, but he and Dutchy could hang out and party and it was _fun_.

And Itey and David... Well, they were serious, but they cared about him, didn't they? Itey _had_ stayed up until 3 AM drilling the last algebra unit into his head, and he'd had no reason to. He'd volunteered. Itey was nice like that. Like David, who nearly lived at Denise's house, and was a great guy. Because, if nothing else, he liked to make fun of Jack. They got along.

_Weird_. He actually _liked_ people. He hadn't even realized. And weirder... They could, conceivably, almost like him back.

Except he was an asshole, so he was probably just deluding himself. He sighed and put his head down on his desk.

Blink prodded his head with the eraser on his pencil. "Uh...what, did you just let it go in your pants? Because you look kind of worn out."

Spot snickered, not lifting his head. "We are _so_ fucking gross."

"Did you do the homework?" Blink asked, looking through his backpack and pulling out a juice box, offering one to Spot. Spot shook his head. "Dude, you need some--"

"Meat on my bones? I hear that every day." Spot stretched. "Tony force feeds me."

"Good thing!"

The teacher, a tall, thin man by the name of Mr. Larrison, was approaching their desk then, looking seriously at the both of them. Blink nudged Spot, and Spot shrugged. "Who cares, we weren't doing anything wrong."

However, they still shut their traps when the teacher stopped in front of their desk.

"Hi sir." Blink grinned. Mr. Larrison ignored him.

"Mr. Conlon," he said. "Come to my desk."

Spot rolled his eyes and pulled himself lazily up from his seat to follow Mr. Larrison to his desk. Blink gave his back a supporting pat as he did so, and Spot really hoped he didn't have to hear shit about being absent.

"What'd I do?" Spot asked, his tone moody and defensive. Mr. Larrison didn't reply a moment, he just was shuffling through his drawer. When he finished, he pulled out a few sheets of scrap paper.

With Spot's handwriting.

"Did you write these?"

Spot stared. "What?"

"These stories..." Mr. Larrison slapped them down on the desk. "Sean, did you write these?"

"...I guess...they might be mine. I dunno."

"They're _good_, Sean."

Spot stared at him. "They're... What?"

_"Good."_

Spot waited for the other shoe to drop. Because math teachers frowned on it when, instead of taking notes in class, students wrote random pieces of fiction. Regardless of the quality. So Spot just stood there for a second.

The other shoe dropped.

"I've given them to Mrs. Abrams for the school literary magazine, but I wanted to be sure I knew whose they were."

"What?" Spot asked. He hadn't stopped staring yet; he was sort of in shock.

"They're _quite_ good. I didn't realize you wrote, but you're certainly better at it than you are at math."

Also, math teachers didn't make jokes. He wondered what alternate universe he'd wandered into for the past couple of days... And then he realized what the teacher had said.

"You _gave them to the literary magazine_?!"

"Yes, I--"

Spot groaned and shook his head. "Larrison, Jesus _Christ_, it isn't going to be freaking IN IT, right? Not unless I want it to be."

There was a pause.

Spot swore.

"Sean, I'll have none of that language."

"I didn't say you could submit them to any pussy magazine, Larrison, because it's all crap anyway and even if it wasn't why the hell would--"

"Sean, you're average is 60. 60 percent. That is a HORRIBLE average."

"So?"

"So not only does your writing deserve to be read, it'd look pretty nice on your resume."

Well, _that_ was a low blow. And, unfortunately, true. But, "So? It ain't like I'm going to college."

"Resumes help with jobs, too, Sean. Which you'll definitely need if you don't go to college." He raised an eyebrow again. "Especially if you hope to go into writing, you'll want to get these published. And I suspect that's what you want to do."

"Fucking is _not_."

"Mmmhmm." He sounded far too smug. "Why don't you take your seat again and think about it? You have Mrs. Abrams for English this afternoon, correct?" He nodded. "Good. Think about it until then, she'll ask you about it."

Spot nodded again, wanting to get out of that conversation as quickly as possible. Because really, he couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to leave those papers around in the math room, and there was no one anyone would actually LIKE that crap, except maybe Tony, who had probably been lying to make him feel better.

He sat back down, and Blink poked his shoulder. "OW, fucker," Spot snapped, not hurt but reacting to his alleged mugging.

"Sorry," Blink answered. "So what the hell was _that_?"

Spot shrugged. "Just crap about me needing to get good grades for college and shit. You know, 'you have no future' and all that shit."

"I got one of those." Blink nodded. "From Mushee, only nicer. He says I can amount to more. But I figure I only want to sing, so..." He gave Spot a grin. "So do you wanna be a writer?"

Spot paled. "_What_?"

"You always scribble and stuff in notebooks when we're rehearsing and you're just sitting there, so..." Blink shrugged. "Or hey, maybe you could be a model."

"That's stupid."

"No no, pout. Serious, you can pout _so_ good. Hey hey, Mr. Larrison, can Spot pout or can't he!?"

"Indeed." The math teacher gave them a bemused look.

"Leave me alone!"

Blink grinned his stupid, annoying smile, which was about three times too large for his face, and the second bell rang, so Mr. Larrison started class. Which Spot spent the period actively ignoring; specifically, since Larrison had decided to try and foster his creative side, he spent the period finally getting the writing he'd craved doing out of his system. The words flowed and not even getting called on in class interrupted him; he answered with his middle finger, which by this point, he didn't even get sent to the office for.

During the first two weeks he'd been in school, he'd spent more time in the office than in class. Then the school social worker had told them a bunch of shit about how he was a 'special case' who needed 'extra patience and consideration,' and as close as he could tell, it meant that he could do whatever he wanted. No one bothered him. He was a screw up anyway; it wasn't like failing a year of high school before he dropped out would make a difference in five years, when he was working the overnight shift at a gas station somewhere.

Blink leant over and tried to casually observe what he was writing. Of course, Blink was blind in that eye and had to turn his neck the whole way around, which made being casual hard. Spot whapped him in the shoulder without stopping writing, and was actually annoyed when the bell rang, because it meant he and his notebook had to relocate. He was on a _roll_.

The next few periods passed in a blur, because it was just stupid classes he didn't give a damn about, which he wrote through. He wasn't writing about Tony or the Mafia or his father or anything related to the shit he'd actually _lived_ through, he was just... Writing. He didn't even know what it was. He almost never reread anything he wrote, he just got it out of his system and that was that.

Lunchtime approached and he wasn't hungry, but he never was. They sometimes grabbed fast food for lunch instead of the school food--technically, only honor roll kids were allowed to go off school grounds, BUT... Well, Spot was a 'special case,'; Dutchy was a druggie; Blink was the school's only flamer. The administration didn't bother with any of them. Itey actually _was_ an honors student, and Jack didn't do too badly outside of math, so they let it slide.

Spot was just having soda for lunch, but he did steal everyone else's fries because he liked them, and wouldn't have eaten enough to fill his own order anyway. Also, they were good for throwing at people.

A fry glanced off of Dutchy's shoulder and hit the guy at the table next to him, who'd been eating a cheese burger and drinking a soda while reading a paper, and he turned around to glare.

And Spot wasn't sure, but he looked damn familiar and very Italian. He gulped down a breath, muttered a quick apology, and hoped that he was imagining things. After all, this was a guy in McDonald's, wearing casual work clothes, not a freaking suit and sunglasses... But somehow, he doubted the Mafia men wore suits and sunglasses when they were trying to blend in.

Lunch was less fun after that.

F: OH MY GOD MAPLE YOGURT. I AM EATING MAPLE YOGURT.

B: And I am having some sort of bean stew creation my mom made. It's surprisingly good.

F: I DIDN'T KNOW MAPLE YOGURT EXISTED BUT IT DOES AND I'M EATING IT.

B: Your caps lock scares me.

F: It's that good.

B: I'll take your word. So, uh, anyway, you can berate us for sucking now. It's been more than a month since the last update and it's... kind of... both of our faults.

F: Tell them I hate high school.

B: Funkie hates high school. So do I, I went back to visit my HS today, and it was CREEPY 'cause it's been forever since I graduated and I am the OLDEST PERSON EVER.

f: I'M the center of a bunch of stupid rumors because my friends are catty.

B: I'm just old.

F: You are not.

B: I'm olllllllllllllllld. But at least I'm on summer break.

F: I'm not -pout-

B: Mwahahahahaha. The joys of being old.

F: I'm eating more yogurt

B: I have Coke. So it's all good.

You'll never guess what this chapter was celebrated with


	16. Everything and In Between

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

Life ain't so shitty

There's a lot that you can be

And ain't it a pity

But its alright to smile back at me

And if we both go there

We can count on problems that we might not necessarily

Come in contact with,

Hey wake up, do you know where I'm coming from

-Blind Melon, _Life Ain't So Shitty_

**_Chapter Sixteen: Everything and In Between_**

The day was more fun than Race had had at school in a long time. He missed Spot and the band, but David was in a good mood, and so Race and Mush had used it to convince him to torment their chemistry substitute teacher. So he was hurriedly finishing up a fake lesson plan, while Mush watched the door. The only downside was the note in Race's pocket. It was from Tracy, begging him to meet her after morning classes, outside during lunch. Race had an idea what this was about; 'why haven't you asked me out yet Tony?'

'Because I like anal sex. A lot.'

All he wanted to focus on now was making the sub teacher's like a living hell. David finished the plan and dropped it on the desk, and they rushed to their seats as the bell rang. Mush unlocked the door just before the sub arrived and would have noticed it was locked, and Race waited eagerly. Dave had been working on it all morning. He'd even made fake transparencies.

Oh, this was going to be glorious.

The sub walked in and took roll call, and when the whole class was there and no one seemed to be trying to switch names or screw him up, he was suspicious. He introduced himself and the class all smiled and nodded. He was really suspicious. He turned on the projector and the light blew, and David helpfully explained that there were replacements in the cabinet up to his left, which the sub opened, and about seven light bulbs then fell onto the counter, and on to him. They shattered, but he wasn't hurt, and Race turned to gape at David. Who was not just subtle and creative, but apparently, a genius, and kind of malicious. David just smiled cheerfully.

"How did this..." The substitute spluttered as he went to his class plan. "Would someone clean that up?"

"We're not allowed to clean things sir," David spoke up. The teacher raised an eyebrow and stared at him.

"Pardon?"

"We're not allowed to clean things, sir," David repeated. "Because we weren't raised to clean things; our parents get mad if you fix other teachings into our brains sir."

"What's your name?"

"David Jacobs, sir."

The teacher grabbed for his attendance list, and then looked through their marking files. "You have a 98% in Chem."

"I do, sir."

"And Ms. Mullins said you're 'reliable, dependable and responsible.'"

"Thank you, sir."

"So that means...you're serious."

"Of course, sir."

The teacher stared at him. He smiled back, unfazed, and it was incredibly hard for the rest of the class not to start laughing. Because... Well, because David was a goody two shoes and everyone knew it, and he was also terrified of losing his scholarship. David didn't do things like torture substitutes, it was too risky, and he was too nice. No one but Mush and Race knew he had it in him, and while they were less surprised, they were entirely amused.

"Okay." The sub shook his head a little in wonderment. "So where's a broom and dustpan...?"

David pointed towards a cabinet in the back, which the sub went to open, which lead to the shelf inside collapsing from the back, and an entire case of test tubes falling and shattering at the back of the closet. The sub yelped and looked visibly shaken, and Race turned to stare at David.

Who was smiling innocently.

"Why didn't you tell me you're an evil genius?" Race demanded under his breath.

David raised an eyebrow and that was all.

The teacher came back, his hair ruffled, staring in awe at the closet. "I'll call a janitor."

"You have to page one, sir."

"Page one?"

"I'd show you, but that would go against the code, sir. Just shout for one down the hall."

"Make sure when you do," Mush added, "that you yell 'OLLY OLLY OLLY JANITOOOOR' because otherwise they hit you with the mop."

"...what's YOUR name?"

"Michael Meyers." Mush gave his charming, approval winning smile. The teacher then proceeded to check HIS grades.

"Ninety-two..."

"Uh huh!"

"'Sweet disposition'."

"Oh don't make me blush..."

The teacher stared at the door and whimpered. Race wanted to play along, but was relatively sure his, "85 percent; smartass, irritating" note in the book wouldn't do their cause any good. So instead he let David and Mush take turns smiling sincerely and helping the sub make a fool of himself and incur major property damage. By the end of the period, the room was actually in SHAMBLES; David had somehow got the janitor in on it. The sub was just sitting at the desk, shaking his head, having given up entirely. For the first time in recorded history, Race was sad to see chemistry end. When it did, that meant it was lunch, which also meant he had to deal with Tracy..

"What're you going to say to her?" Mush asked, opening his locker to pull out his lunch (home made Greek salad and bottled spring water with carrot sticks and three strawberries.)

Race made a face. "You eat like Sophia."

Mush smiled as he stuck a carrot in his mouth. "And you're gay."

"...uh... What's your point?"

Mush glared at him then, in as much as Mush ever glared at anyone. "NOTHING is my point. You, go break someone's heart. Let's go eat, Dave."

Then Mush went off down the hall. David shook his head and gave the confused Race a pat on the back.

"Not your fault, Tony."

"What was that about?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it." Then David was off as Race started out towards the parking lot.

The school's campus overlapped with the girls' school campus in its extended grounds, including the parking lot and the building with the gym, main auditorium, and cafeteria. Tracy materialized next to Race, matching her pace to his, chewing bubble gum annoyingly.

"Tony!" she giggled. "I wasn't sure you were going to come!"

"Uhm...yeah, about that, I uh..."

"You have a car, right, Tony? Let's go talk in your car." She fluttered her eyelashes at him and he tried not to blanch visibly.

"Actually, my car was stolen."

"No!" she gasped. "How?"

"Mugged." He shrugged.

She gasped again and threw her arms around him, and actually went so far as to kiss his cheek. "Oh you poor baby..." Her voice dropped into a low breathy tone. "I bet I can make it all better."

"Tracy!" he yelped in a strangled voice, and tried to get out of her vice-like grip.

"Whaaaaat?" she said, mock-innocent, trailing her finger down his cheekbone. Race winced, and managed to pull her arms from around his neck, but she kept her hands tight around his.

"Tracy, look..." he trailed off.

"Yes?" she asked hopefully, leaning close into him, her pelvis slightly pushed into his. He really kind of wanted to hurl.

"I uh...I have to tell you that this..." he looked down at their hands, and tried to pull his away, but she was a lot stronger than she looked. "Uh... well, I don't.."

"Tony, I think we make a really, really good match," she leaned close. "Don't you agree?" Then she leaned in closer and it was only because of Race's snake-like instincts that he ducked his head away from her kiss. She caught the side of his mouth, but got the idea pretty quickly. Even an idiot knew when someone didn't want to be kissed. "What's with you?" she asked, pouting, hands now on her hips.

"What's with me is that you stalk me!" he snapped back, pulling away from her and trying to get the feeling of her lips off of his mouth, desperately trying to imagine Spot kissing him instead while not becoming too distracted to talk to her.

"Tony--"

"No, serious, you do. And you act like I belong to you, which is just bullshit, because I don't even like you!"

She stared at him.

Oops. Well, he hadn't meant to actually be mean about it, but...

"You don't like me?" she repeated, her voice wavering slightly.

"Tracy, I--"

"But at that party..."

"I was drunk," he explained uncomfortably. "I'd have... I'd have made out with Michael, I was so drunk."

"Tony, don't even joke about that," she scoffed. He managed not to laugh, wondering what she'd do if she found out that he was actually gay. "Come on, you..."

"Nope." He shrugged. "So... Sorry?"

She stared at him again. He tensed and waited, and then...

"You ASSHOLE!" she shrieked, and they were drawing a significant amount of strange looks. "You, you total jerk! You can't DO that to people, act like you like them and then say you were DRUNK! It's--"

"Tracy, please," he mumbled. "You're causing a scene."

"I'll cause a scene if I WANT to!" she yelled, her voice rising to an octave he was pretty certain only dogs could hear. "You are such a selfish JERK, I thought you really liked me!"

And then she burst into tears and ran back towards the building, and he was basically left with a handful of people staring at him. One of them was Sophia. He threw her a startled look, and she rolled her eyes and walked off in the same direction Tracy had run, he hoped to try and make things better somehow. Though really, he wasn't sure what had happened.

"Jerk!" one girl snapped as he walked by, splashing the remainder of her Snapple in his face. Race coughed, and blinked as the drink dripped onto his collar and tie. But the next thing he knew, a brunette girl was handing him a tissue and asking a bit too curiously, "So, you and Tracy aren't going together?"

"Uh, no," he said, then paused and smiled at her. He winked. "I could never tie myself down to one girl, you know?"

She gave him a look which was far too interested and he wondered why the hell he was responding the way he was when all he wanted was to get to Spot, and the girl reached into her pocket and dug out a pen. "Tracy's a total whore," she said, and grabbed Race's arm. "Here. Call me sometime." She scrawled the number on his hand before he could object, and wrote her name (Elisa, apparently) underneath it. He looked down at it, nodded, and winked. And with that, he started back towards the building. The first thing he did inside was find David and Mush, both of whom were smirking at him.

"Shut UP," he said before they could say a single word.

"I didn't say a word. Did you Mushee?"

"Not one, Davey."

Mush seemed to be normal now; Race supposed David had sorted everything out and played his role of 'Jewish Mother'...which he was very, very good at.

"I wanna see Spoo-oott..." Race whined, stamping his foot.

"Well, I wanna see my Blinkee, so we're both screwed." Mush and Race then glanced at David. Waiting.

"What?" David snapped. "Don't be stupid."

"Look, look, denial." Mush pointed. "That's the first sign, isn't it Tony?"

He and Race huddled, staring at David. "He's holding back; I recognize it, I did it for so long."

"Yeah, you sure did."

"Mush." David gave him a warning glare. Mush stuck his tongue out.

"I say we hang naked photos of Jack up in his locker," Tony mumbled.

"Nah--Keanu Reeves. He could make your DAD gay."

Race almost choked. "My dad is the straightest guy on the fucking PLANET. And since when do you have a Keanu Reeves thing? I thought you hated the Matrix."

"I do. But HE is hot." Mush shrugged. "It's the only thing that makes the movie watchable."

"But more importantly," Race said, "David is gay."

"Yeah." Mush nodded.

David was rapidly turning bright red. "I am NOT!"

"Uh huh. Let's examine your locker, shall we?" Race said. "All pictures of your friends. And which picture is the largest, most prominently featured?"

"Why, Tony," Mush answered, amused, "that would be the picture from their camping trip over the summer."

"The one of you and Jack, shirtless, where his arm's around you and you're holding a VERY phallic fishing pole," Race agreed.

David actually looked like he was hyperventilating and after a few seconds sucked in a deep breath. "I hate you both!" he yelped. "You two are such assholes, you are going to pay for that!"

"I'm real scared, Dave," Race laughed.

"I am," Mush said thoughtfully. "I mean, you saw what he did to the poor Chem sub."

Race paused, then nodded. "Oops, sorry, Dave."

"You will be," David muttered. "And Jack and I are not gay."

Mush and Race were sending knowing looks back and forth to the other rapidly, and then finally looked at David, and said, simultaneously, "Of course you're not."

"Go masturbate, fucker." David poked Race's chest. Then he turned on Mush. "And you go video tape it." Then he turned on his heel and stormed off as Mush turned absolutely RED.

"Looks like we made him super pissed." Race threw his arm around Mush's shoulder. "Good job, Mushee. Now, I'm gonna go masturbate and you can video tape it."

"I will not!"

Race grinned. "Aw, come ooon..."

"No, do it on your own."

"I'm joking, you know."

"Well don't!" Mush made a frustrated shrieky sound. "AUGH, I want Blinkee, everyone is being MEAN to me today..."

Race laughed. "You and Blink are really cute, you know that?"

Mush almost stared at him, but caught himself. "What?" he asked.

"Well, I know I was ragging on you a lot when you two got together, about being obnoxious and all, but you're really not. And hey, he makes you happy, so..." Race shrugged. "I'm glad you two are together."

Mush smiled. "Thanks, I think?" he said.

"Well, y'know. You seemed kinda lonely before. And by 'lonely,' I mean 'desperate.' Fuck, I could swear you were hitting on _me_, sometimes."

And Mush turned purple. "I'm gonna go apologize to David now," he said quickly and started off. Race jogged to catch up.

"Mush, you okay?"

"You suck, Tony, you know that?"

Race nodded. "People tell me that a lot. But--shit, Mush, you shoulda told me you liked me." Mush turned to look at him, though he kept walking.

"You knew?" he demanded.

"I didn't, I just..." He didn't want to rat out Spot for telling him. "Figured it out, when I started, you know, not being in denial anymore. And... Shit, Mush, you're my best friend. And I don't want there to be anything awkward between us. I think you're great, and I really do like you and Blink together."

Mush, being the emotional little gay boy he was, beamed, and threw his arms around Race's neck, hugging him very close and very tightly and Race thought he was going to choke because he could barely breath, but he hugged him back because it was Mush, and even though he'd never really admit it, he loved Mush almost more than anyone else he knew.

"You sure were a blind idiot."

"I sure was." Race smiled fondly and rubbed his best friend's back. "Hey, I'm glad we never did anything. You're too awesome to be a party make out."

Mush pulled back, still smiling, but more mischievously.

"Hey, I had plenty of opportunities."

"Did not."

"Did so. You can get so drunk you don't know WHO you're with. I could've been Tracy for all you know." Mush leaned in close. "Who, by the way, is spreading around the school that you called her a tramp and broke her heart."

"Oh, well, that's just fabulous."

Mush grinned. "C'mon; let's find Davey before he actually does plot both of our deaths. Seriously, I don't know how he rigged the burner to catch fire like that..."

"He's a freaking genius, that's how." Race and Mush started down the hall, and a comfortable silence enveloped them. Both eased into it, sensing that things were finally going to be...well, not-awkward. Mush, with his small crush on Race that might just always be there, didn't mind now. Because he loved Blink, and really, had a small crush on nearly every movie star in the world anyway.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you and Spot are together too."

Race ducked his head and grinned, feeling the blush creep into his cheeks. "Really?"

"Do I lie?"

"Yes, actually. But you suck at it."

Mush punched him as Race laughed. "Really. I'm glad you are. You love him."

Race snapped his head up to look at him. "What?"

"I can just tell."

"HOW can you tell THAT?!"

"I dunno; some gay guy stereotype about being ultra sensitive or something," Mush answered.

"That's to WOMEN, I thought!"

There was a pause. Mush snickered. Race punched him. "Seriously, though. You two... You just work well. You balance each other."

"What does that mean?" Race demanded.

Mush shrugged. "You just do it. And you're so in love with him, it's way more obvious than you think. I can't believe you haven't been caught."

"We almost were." He paused. "But luckily, it was just Izzy, who yelled at us for being stupid."

"I wish MY sister was that cool with me being gay," Mush sighed. "God, my family is STILL..." He trailed off.

"Oh, Mushee," Race murmured, not sure what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Well, it sucks." Mush shrugged. "But they love me anyway, so it's not so bad." He paused and glanced down the hall. "Hey, Dave! We're sorry."

"You'd BETTER be," David yelled back, but let them walk up to meet him.

"You're so lucky that I didn't completely blow your cover," David griped at Mush. Race sighed, and put his arm around Mush.

"Well, I'm afraid you did. And now Mush and I are..." Race crossed his fingers and stuck them in David's face. "We're off to have rampant sex. YOU are in charge of telling Spot and Blink. Make sure to add that we're really sorry."

"Because we are," Mush agreed. "Now, come along, Tony, we have to do something about your HAIR afterward, because there's only so cute the tousled thing can be."

David stared.

He didn't seem to know whether he should believe them or not. "Are you serious?"

Mush pinched Race's ass. Race cackled and jumped away; he hadn't expected that.

"Totally serious, Dave." He snorted. "Spot's and my sex is WAY hotter than anything with that guy could be."

"I'll have you know Blink's and my sex is VERY hot."

"I do not want to hear this," David muttered. "Remind me again why I'm friends with you two?"

"Because you wuuuuuuuuuuv us," Mush laughed.

"Seriously, though, Dave," Race said. "We mock you and Jack 'cause you're easy targets, and if you ARE gay, that's totally cool. And if not..." He shrugged. "It's all good natured, seriously. Sorry if we pissed you off."

"You did." David glowered, or tried to, but he was actually smiling. "God, coming out of the closet was GREAT for you, Tony; you're all nice and stuff now."

"Hey!"

"That's true, he--" Mush was interrupted when a girl walked by, splashing her Snapple in Race's face and spitting "JERK" and walking on.

Race spluttered and David and Mush burst out laughing.

"What the HELL is a girl doing in here?"

"Lunch isn't over yet, dorkus, she's probably off to see her boyfriend."

"I need a tissue..." Race wiped at his face.

"Go get Spot to lick it off."

"I just wish."

"Would you guys stop with the sex talking about-ing and the innuendo-thing-ing?"

"Innuendo-thing-ing?" Race repeated. "Didn't you get a 760 on the PSAT verbals?"

"Yes, and shut up," David answered.

"Bitter?" Mush asked. "Wait, for missing the other 40?"

"...I got an 800 math, so don't mock me!"

"You smell like Snapple," Mush commented to Race, cutting off the brewing hissy fit.

"Is it good?" Race asked, sniffing the air.

"Kind of apple-y mixed with lemon." Mush shrugged. "Added with lasagna. You always smell like lasagna."

"Thanks..."

"Hey, you guys have band practice after school, right?" David asked, nudging Race. Race nodded. "Okay, good, because I have to talk to you."

"...whaaaat about?"

"I found this flyer, it's in my backpack. There's this club, it's got a local band night coming up, so I figured if you and the guys practiced your asses off, and if you played drums with them more than get distracted by Spot's skinny ass--"

"I like that skinny ass."

"--then you'd be shoo-ins." David grinned. "Hey, if all else fails, you can take turns soloing and Blink can do something erotic with the mike. Stop smiling like that, it's creepy," he said quickly to Mush, who went into 'drooling over Blink with phallic objects' mode.

"It's not creepy," Race defended, which made Mush beam more.

"You're only saying that because Spot looks at you that way when you play. Which is both sweet and annoying as hell."

"You need to get laid," Race answered. He even managed not to add, 'by Jack.'

"Yeah, yeah." David paused. "Yeah; you know anyone?"

Race started to reply without thinking, than did a doubletake and stared. David smirked.

"I hear Tracy Marshall just had her heart broken by some creep; I bet she's feeling all vulnerable right now," Mush mused.

They stared at him. He smirked.

"You two have GOT to stop doing this to me," Race squawked. "'Cause you two used to be NICE."

"Well, you used to be straight. Times change. I'm gonna catch a later bus back, I've got newspaper things tonight, but I'll bring the flyer."

"You're such a freaking 'most likely to own a newspaper'," Race muttered.

"Well you're a 'most likely to...'" David paused, then looked at Mush. "You're most likely to have a nice home and three kids. And a dog. With a husband. What's he?"

"Most likely to fuck you in Italian?"

David pointed. "That's it." He looked at Race, who was shaking his head in slight disbelief. "HAVE you and Spot...?"

"NO."

"How far have you..."

"Go get some sex and leave me the fuck alone!" He checked his watch. "God, why can't the day just end..."

"You need to get laid almost as badly as David does," Mush noted, and they both gave him an odd look.

"What?" he demanded, then grinned. "Everyone should have as much fun as Blink and I do. Hey, I've gotta go finish my history homework; I'll see you in awhile." And he sauntered off smugly.

They stared after him. "I swear to God, if I didn't have to hide from my family, Spot and I would so be having so much sex..." Race grumbled.

"Yeah, I really don't need to hear any of this," David sighed. "WHY can't I be friends with straight guys?"

"Davey..." Race made an innocent face. "Could you do me a favor?"

"...depends on what it is."

"Help me do my Chem homework instead of going to gym? You hate gym. You only take it for extra credits. So you should skip it and come help me do Chem."

"Don't you have history?"

"I sure will skip it."

David bit the inside of his mouth. "Fine, but only if you write me an excuse note for tomorrow. Your excuse notes rock. Do you bring one from yesterday? And how's your elbow? Did they hit it hard? I forgot to ask you what it's like to be mugged."

Race snorted. "Oh Davey, it's so fun."

"Come on, library. No one can splash you with Snapple in there."

"...thank you."

"You're welcome, Anthony Higgins."

Race grinned and walked off with him. He wondered if being in love always made everything this much more pleasant than it had seemed before.

* * *

Mush's car was nice, but not as nice as Race's, which was why Race was still sulking that his car had been stolen. Which it actually had. And there was still no word on it being found, and he really, really didn't want to have to live without a car. Which was why, by the time he and Mush pulled up in front of Blink's house, Mush was just as glad to get rid of him. Yes, everything was pleasant when you were in love, but that didn't mean that everything was as pleasant as it could be if you were in love with your own car.

His car had really rocked.

"God, I need to seriously make out with Blinkee after listening to you bullshit and complain for like, what, half an hour?" Mush shoved him and locked the car.

"God, you're such a baby sometimes." Mush didn't say anything despite seeing Spot walk quietly up behind them, grinning and motioning at him not to say anything.

"I am not being a ba-YAYby-" Race yelped, and jumped slightly as Spot poked his sides sharply, remembering just how ticklish Race was. Race turned around and punched his shoulder (the 'non injured' one) and growled, "DON'T."

"And there was the re-appearance of Antonia." Spot put his hands in his pockets and smirked. "Hey Mush."

Mush laughed as he walked by them. "Heya Spotty."

"FuckingHATEbeingtickled," Race pouted, shoving Spot as he walked by him. "I want to play drums NOW," he demanded, walking into the open garage. Mush and Blink were hugging.

"YOU'RE reminding me of a two year old today." Itey rolled his eyes as he tuned his bass.

"Nah, it works for Tony," Dutchy grinned.

"Antonia," Spot corrected, following Race into the garage, and then punching the button that brought the door down. "It's freaking windy out."

"You're such an old man," Blink said, his arm still snaked around his boyfriend's waist as the door came down. "'It's cold, it's windy, the sun is too bright...'"

"Fuck you, Blink," Spot answered and punched him.

"Back atcha." Blink punched him back.

"OW, that was my SHOULDER you FUCKER. And it's like the sixth time you've done it!"

"Well, be less annoying." Blink grinned.

Spot glared at him, then turned to Mush. "So, done anything embarrassing in the restroom of your gym lately, Mush?"

Mush stared at him for a second, then began to turn purple. "BLINK!" he yelped.

Blink winced, then looked at Spot menacingly. "Asshole," he muttered. "Hey Tony--"

Spot tackled him and threw a hand over his mouth. Race gave them a strange look, then turned to everyone else in the room.

"Have they been like that long and I just never noticed?" he asked.

Dutchy shook his head. "It's just today, man. I think they're on drugs."

Spot and Blink were still wrestling and finally looked up. "We bonded in study hall," Blink explained.

"Heh. Bondage," Spot muttered. "Marcus." And they both started cackling.

"Okaaaaay," Mush said. "Our boyfriends have both gone insane."

"Yeah, I hear Tony sure does with the Italian," Blink said very quickly. "Loudly, too, but hey, what are towels for?"

Spot swore and punched Blink again in the stomach before Race turned beat red and stared incredulously at Spot. "You DICK."

"He wormed it out of me." Spot was grunting slightly, wrestling with Blink. "What can I say?"

"How about NOTHING?"

"But you're fun to talk about..." Spot thrashed around slightly; Blink hand managed to pin him to the couch, remarkably, since they both knew Spot would win in an actual fight. "Let me go, damn it."

"Nah, I don't think so," Blink said.

"BLINK!" Spot yelped indignantly.

"Blink," Mush sighed. "Would you knock that off, so I can say a proper hello?"

Which did the trick, and Spot was unceremoniously dumped on the couch so Blink and Mush could make out. Which was really okay with both of them, and also with Spot, who grabbed Race's shirt. "Door's shut," he murmured, and Race glanced around. The only way to see in through the garage would have been through the windows on the edge that faced towards the next house over, which were coated in a thick layer of grime. He doubted there was any way they could be observed, and grinned and climbed on to the couch. More importantly, on to Spot.

"We are WAY hotter than those two," Spot noted and rolled over, pinned Race beneath him, and began to kiss.

Dutchy and Itey stared at each other.

"Great," Itey said bluntly. "Now what are we supposed to do? Watch?"

"I'm in." Dutchy turned to look as Spot started to inch up Race's shirt, revealing a very flat and toned stomach. "Oh, that's _nice_ Italian..." he murmured.

"Come on, let's go get food or something..." Itey shuddered and grabbed Dutchy's wrist, dragging him through the door that led into the back of the house, muttering something about Blink's garage being a whorehouse.

"Hey." Blink pulled away from Mush and turned to Spot and Race, who were growing more intense on the couch. "HEY."

Spot flipped him off and kept kissing.

"HEY."

"_What_?" Race snapped, turning his head. Spot just went to his neck.

"This is OUR make-out place, get your own."

Race was silent, and stuck his tongue out and started pulling off Spot's shirt.

Mush and Blink groaned and then followed Dutchy's and Itey's actions in leaving the room. "We'll be back in FIVE."

"Ten!" Race panted out.

"...FINE. ASS."

"I love our friends," Race mumbled as Spot pulled Race's shirt off and began to trail kisses down his chest. He sighed happily and began to mumble in Italian without thinking, then remembered what that did to Spot and began to do it a bit more clearly, a little louder, and Spot didn't know it, but he was making some very dirty offers.

"Fucking... God you're..." Spot mumbled, unable to finish a thought or a sentence, and Race sat up a little, reached to kiss Spot, but Spot pinned him back on the couch and slid one hand down to undo his belt. Race's eyes went wide but Spot kissed him hard, then trailed a line of kisses down his neck. Race felt himself breathing very hard, losing his concentration to the point where he couldn't talk anymore at all, as Spot kept kissing his way down, over his chest, his abs, and laid a hand on Race's loosened pants.

"Spot..." Race said quietly, unsure, but Spot just slid his pants down and began to kiss his way down Race's pelvis.

* * *

On the other side of the door, Jack was listening intently. "One sec..." he held his hand up to make Dutchy and Blink shut up while Mush and Itey just shook their heads in disgust. "Okay, Blink, you get twelve bucks, because Tony's talking COMPLETELY in Italian."

"Of course." Blink held his hand out to Dutchy. "Cough up. And hurry, I'm gonna go mack with my boyfriend for a bit before we get practicing."

"At this rate..." Itey grumbled.

"No serious, we'll be quick. I'LL be quick," Blink promised.

"I'll make it quick," Mush agreed.

"GOD GO AWAY."

"GEEZE, Itey..."

The two of them hurried off to Blink's room, as Itey just kept shaking his head, rambling about 'inappropriateness' and 'how much he wanted to see Sophia'.

"Jesus, Sarah has no libido," Jack said jealously.

"She never wants to do anything but talk about what I do wrong. I haven't even gotten tongue for like, two weeks. Hell, she barely kisses me."

"I've been too fucked up to get laid," Dutchy added, popping some gummy bears into his mouth.

"I never get to see Sophia..."

"Yes you do!"

"Not as much as I _want_ to..."

"Oh cry me a river." Jack smacked his head. "How could she like you over me? I don't get it..."

"Well, he's less of an egomaniac," Dutchy noted, and grinned as Jack smacked his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Dutchy; he just wishes David was here to comfort him. I'm sure David is less frigid than his sister."

"ITEY!" Jack yelped. "You're supposed to be the NICE one!" He paused and leaned towards the door, and then his face turned bright red and he leaned back away quickly. "I did NOT need to hear that."

"Hear _what_?"

"Tony isn't talking in Italian anymore."

"What, he's dirty talking in _English_? Let me by, I fucking gotta hear that," Dutchy demanded, and leaned past Jack to get to the door. "Okay, all I hear is some moaning, but..." He trailed off.

"Yeah..." Jack said. "He's... too gone to talk."

"Woah," Dutchy said. "Woah, that's so hot."

"Okay, this is sick, I am NOT listening to them or you. I'm gonna go watch TV," Itey declared and ran out of the room.

"So," Jack said after a second. "We probably shouldn't listen in on this, that's kind of sick."

"Yep," Dutchy agreed, then sighed. "God DAMN I'm horny."

"Me too." Jack groaned and slunk away from the door. "I'm gonna go find Sarah and apologize for whatever she's mad at me for. I don't even remember what it is. When David gets here, tell him I'll probably be at his house, okay?"

"Sure thing, Jack," Dutchy agreed, smirking.

"DON'T say it, we're STRAIGHT."

"Suuuuuuuure you are."

"Shut up and go get laid."

"I would, but Tony's busy and has a boyfriend."

Jack stared at Dutchy.

Dutchy shrugged.

"Right, well, how about I don't mention you said that to Spot?" he suggested.

"That sounds like a good plan," Dutchy agreed. Jack started to go, but then hurried back and listened at the door with Dutchy.

"They gotta be almost done, I might as well--"

"Yeah, right. You're just as perverted as I am."

"I'm just curious as to--EW, GOD. Brother doing nasty things, going now." He hurried off. "I can't BELIEVE I forgot it was my BROTHER in there for christsake..."

Dutchy was still listening to the moaning going on at the other side of the door. And heavy breathing. Then Itey walked back in, shaking his head. "Nothing good on TV?" Dutchy asked without moving his head.

"Nothing," Itey responded, and began to rummage around in the kitchen for the ingredients to make a sandwich. "Also, it's close to Blink's room. And Blink is loud. So would you stop being weird and talk to me instead?"

"One sec, I think he's almost--"

"For crying out LOUD, don't be GROSS."

"But it's WEIRD and interesting and I don't know what it IS about those two, but they're freaking compelling." He popped more gummy bears in his mouth and finally pulled away from the door. "Wow, they sure do--"

The moan on the other side of the door wasn't REALLY loud, but it was loud enough that both of them could hear it faintly without trying. Itey closed his eyes and scrunched his face. "Find happy place find happy place..."

Dutchy gave his back a pat. "I can't believe I LISTENED to that, I am such a--"

"ASS?"

They both turned their heads sharply to see a shirtless Spot staring at them through the slightly opened door.

Dutchy was speechless. Itey was trying to hide his laughter.

"You sure as hell are a loud listener," Race from further back in the garage.

Dutchy stared at the two of them in shock.

"God, at least Jack LEFT, but you are a serious pervert," Spot muttered. "And you interrupted what was about to be a VERY nice blowjob so I'm kind of pissed." He crossed his arms and glared.

"So why didn't you--?" Dutchy started.

"Because you were LISTENING, fucker, and that would have been..." Race stopped, and shuddered audibly. "Just too fucking _weird_."

Dutchy shrugged. "Yeah; Jack and Itey are right. I really need to get laid." He grinned. "But hey, since I'm celibate at the moment, I don't see why you two shouldn't suffer with me. They did teach me in rehab that sharing pain makes it easier to deal with."

A long silence passed between them, and then Spot slammed the door in his face.

"HAH." Itey smirked. "Come oonn, leave them alone. Okay? Tony wants a blowjob."

"I sure _DO_," was the muffled reply from the other side of the door.

Itey grabbed Dutchy's wrist and said loudly, "We're GOING. I'm dragging him away, be quick!"

"Fuck off!" was the hurried, and somewhat panted response from Spot, so Itey assumed they'd better get the hell out of there. Itey dragged Dutchy into the living room.

"So," Dutchy mumbled, sounding kind of hesitant and quiet.

"Yeah?" Itey asked.

"I've kind of got this problem."

"Cocaine?" Itey asked wryly.

"Aside from that." Dutchy leant against the couch back and looked a little nervous. "How the hell do you get rid of a crush on a guy you absolutely can NOT have a crush on because NOTHING good could come of it?"

Itey hesitated. "You wanna fill me in on--"

"Tony. Is hot, and gay, and saved my life. You really want more details?"

"No, that's fine." He shuddered a little. "Yeah, don't want to know anything else. Pervert."

"Hey, I'm not..." He stopped. "Well, okay, the door thing was a LITTLE perverted."

"A little?" Itey raised an eyebrow and Dutchy looked uncomfortable, then covered by stealing half of Itey's sandwich.

"So, any thoughts?" Dutchy asked.

"Yes." Itey folded his arms across his chest. "I actually can kind of see why you'd have one. I mean, you two do have your...weird...connection. Because of drugs." Itey reached for a cracker. "And I know you might be...well, might've been dead if it weren't for him, but Dutchy, think clearly, he and Spot are really into each other, you know? I think you're just suffering from hero worship."

Dutchy chewed loudly, before reaching for Itey's sandwich again (only to have Itey slap his hand away). He didn't say anything a moment, and finally sighed. "I hope you're right."

"I am. Don't worry. Remember when you had a thing for Spot?"

"Hey, we actually hooked up. And it was hot."

"AND when you liked Jack?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is, don't jump to conclusions." Itey patted him on the back. "Everything'll be fine, and stop eating my food." He snatched the rest of the sandwich as Dutchy reached for it, and shot Dutchy a smug look as he chewed.

* * *

Spot watched Race carefully.

Race's eyes were shut and he was sprawled on the couch, still naked, a euphoric smile on his face... for a second. Then it faded and Race blinked rapidly, then opened his eyes wide. "Oh my _god_..."

"You okay?" Spot mumbled.

"Fine," Race answered, almost snippishly. "Just... I'm fine. You rock."

Spot smirked. "I sure do."

"And I fucking love you."

"Awww. That's so cute."

"Shut UP." Race groaned. "I'm fine, I'm better than fine, I'm awesome, I just... You... I've never done anything like that before."

"Oh," Spot aid, shrugging. That wasn't exactly the sort of enthusiastic reaction he'd been hoping for, but before they could actually discuss it at all, there was a loud banging on the door.

"Can we freaking REHEARSE now, please?" Itey yelled from the other side. Because Itey was the only one who wasn't with his significant other and hadn't attempted

to live vicariously through those who WERE.

"Uh, give us a minute?" Race called back. "We kind of need to get dressed."

Spot pushed his boyfriend off of the couch, and Race just grinned cheesily as he grabbed his jeans and boxers and threw them on. He'd, thank God, changed before he got to the garage, into his jeans and Tony Bennet tee, because the last thing he wanted was for Spot to have a school boy fetish.

He quickly rebuttoned his pants, still feeling wonderfully post-orgasmic, but at the same time kind of freaked out. It felt good, he loved Spot, but... It just felt like thing with Spot were moving so _fast_, he'd barely gotten used to the idea that he had a boyfriend, and now they were screwing around pretty damn heavily.

With his pants on, and shirt in hand, he gave the okay for everyone else to join them, and pulled his shirt on. Except that Spot couldn't find his shirt.

"I thought you were done?" Dutchy asked, watching Spot scurry by him, looking for it.

"Where the fuck did you throw it, Mario?" Spot pushed his boyfriend.

"I dunno, I didn't notice, I was busy thinking about something _else_."

"BLINK, MUSHEE!" Itey yelled. "COME ON!" Dutchy started playing a silent _Stairway to Heaven_ while Itey tried to help Spot find his shirt. Which really seemed to have disappeared. Race, quite content with his boyfriend being shirtless, offered no assistance and went over to his drumset. Blink and Mush appeared a moment later, Blink

looking very happy, and Mush very flushed indeed.

"Sorry for the wait," Mush said, giving Blink's butt a swift smack. "Go to your mic, baby doll."

"On it." Blink kissed his neck and then walked over to his mic, which was unplugged and in it's stand close to Dutchy, who quickly plugged it in. Blink stopped mid step when he saw Spot.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Looking for my SHIRT."

Blink hesitated, then looked at Race, who was very smug, for all he was also feeling kind of confused. Then he looked at Spot, who was very relaxed, and very shirtless, and very sweaty. "So, you're all caught up, then?" he asked, amused.

"Sure am." Spot leant over to check under the couch, which left Race with a very nice view. He whistled, and Dutchy sighed.

"He needs to eat more; he's too damn skinny."

"I happen to think he's fucking HOT," Race answered.

"I _am_ fucking hot and I can't find my fucking _shirt_."

"Gee, that's too bad," Race noted, then, "Oh, and Dave thinks he might have found us a gig, by the way."

There was a long silence, as Itey, Dutchy and Blink all snapped their heads over to the drumset, and the suddenly freaked looking drummer, who hadn't expected all of them to react so oddly.

"What?"

"A gig?" Blink said in awe.

"...yeeess."

"But...but...WHEN?"

"I dunno, he'll get me the flyer. Soon, I'm thinking." Race started tapping at the high hat. "No worries, we just have to--"

"PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE!" Blink exclaimed. "YOU." He pointed to Itey. "Tune faster. YOU." He turned to Dutchy. "Play slower! YOU." Blink rounded to Race. "You rock."

"I so do."

"Okay! LET'S GO."

"Good _god_." Spot made a face. "Mush, I'm so sorry, you seemed to have forgotten your dog's muzzle at home."

"Oh shut up, he's perfect," Mush snapped, taking a spot next to him on the couch while Blink continued barking orders at everyone. "You have very pretty skin by the way."

"Why thank you."

Mush poked his shoulder. "It doesn't seem bruised, what exactly happened to it?"

Spot shrugged. "They twisted it some. It's super sore, but it's not bruising, so the doctor said it's just a sprain or something. I don't know, I wasn't really listening, he had bad teeth and I had to freaking look away."

Mush laughed and Blink glared at them.

"QUIET. We have to _practice_. Baby," he said seriously to Mush, "please don't distract me right now."

"Oh, right, because I just have a tendency to whip it out on a regular basis," Mush snorted.

"I _wish_," was Blink's response before he turned back to his mic and started tapping at it to test the volume.

"Why don't we try the song Itey wrote?" Dutchy suggested. "We haven't perfected it yet, we might as well get it down. We got my song down last week, so..."

"We'll practice _everything_. ITEY."

"_What?_"

"Where's the keyboard?"

"Over _there_. Would you settle down?" Itey blushed. "I don't wanna sing my song right now...it's embarrassing and personal and her brother is right here and he hasn't heard it yet."

Race suddenly looked very skeptical. "What is this song _about_?"

"Nothing. No one."

"Sophia," Dutchy supplied, and Itey kicked him.

Race stared. "_What_?"

"I wrote a song about her! It's not a crime! She heard it..."

"_When_?"

"On our date, I played it on acoustic guitar. I suck at guitar, but---"

Dutchy kicked him back then. "You don't suck, you're fine. Now come on, show Tony the song."

"NO."

"YES," Race snapped, grinning, enjoying how much fun it was to freak out Itey.

Itey turned an interesting shade of red, and then purple, and then finally settled on a nice, deep pink. "Do we have to?" he half-whined.

"Well, we gotta work out a drum part for it anyway," Dutchy pointed out.

Itey sighed. "Okay, fine," he said, then turned to Race. "It's kinda... Slow and ballad-y. It needs something, like, smooth and unobtrusive 'cause it's... lyrical and stuff..."

Race raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up!" Itey squawked again. "GOD I can't believe I have to play this with other people..."

"We're not famous enough for you to solo," Blink said, then added, "YET."

Race just grinned. "So? Start singing there, Blinkee."

"Nuh uh," Itey interrupted. "The song is for Sophie; I love you Blink, but _I'M_ singing."

"Great," Blink nodded. "You guys work on it. I'll critique." He sat down on the couch between Mush and the still shirtless Spot. "And make out with Mush. So take as long as you like."

"...What happened to your panic?" Dutchy asked.

"Watching Tony torture Itey is more fun."

Itey was playing with the bottom of his shirt, still blushing. "It's not gross or anything, I promise. I didn't do anything gross with your sister."

"Would you just freaking sing the song?" Race adjusted his high hat a little. "If I thought you were gonna be writing gross songs about my sisters, I would have ended this _long_ ago." He shot a look up at Itey. "But it better not be bad, because if you wrote a _bad_ song about my sister..."

Itey whimpered.

"It's not bad, serious!" Dutchy insisted. "If we get a drum beat and Blink can remember how to freaking play keyboard--"

"I took lessons when I was SIX, how am I _supposed_ to remember?"

"Whatever, would you just _sing_?" Race demanded. Itey paused, then cleared his throat and began to play and sing, and Dutchy joined in a minute later and they didn't quite blend because Dutchy was _still_ too fast and Itey was too nervous from singing, and attempting to sing and play at the same time (which he almost never had done before). But Race began to nod along with it, and had to agree that the lyrics were sweet.

"Okay," he said when they were done. "First; I officially approve of you dating Sophie if you're gonna be that nice to her forever--"

"Forever?" Itey interrupted, looking suddenly slightly panicked.

"YES and you'd BETTER be planning to get married because if you break up with her or do something sufficiently asshole-ish that she wants to break up with you, I'll kick your ass," Race answered. Itey 'eeped!' a little, and he continued. "But second; Dutchy, seriously, you're _racing_ there."

"Well, give me a freaking _beat_ then, drummer boy."

Race smirked. "Okay, I _will_." He picked up his sticks again and played around for a minute. "Something like this okay?" he asked Itey, who listened intently, and began to play.

"Nah, a little more..." he gestured vaguely, not sure how to articulate, and Race nodded.

"Right." He adjusted, and Itey grinned.

"Perfect."

They tried through the song again, and though Itey was still nervous, his voice actually came out. It wasn't Blink, no one touched Blink's vocals, but his voice was very sweet, and kind of soft but loud at the same time. It worked for the song, and it worked for diversity, and Race really felt kind of excited because...well, it sounded GOOD.

If they kept practicing...

Finally, they finished up with the song ending on a major acoustic cord provided by Itey, and then Race turned to Mush, Blink and Spot on the couch.

"Good?" he asked, as Itey continued to blush furiously and Dutchy started quickly searching about for the new strings he bought earlier that day during lunch--because his E string looked on the verge of snapping.

Blink nodded his approval, though he did have a fair amount of criticism and ideas, most of which was spot-on for perfecting things. Spot and Mush were just smiling and agreeing, and Spot was staring at Race, the way he always did when Race played drums. And Race stared back, the way he always did when Spot wasn't wearing a shirt. So really, it worked out pretty well.

"So what else do we have today?" Blink asked. "Anything new?"

"Uh," Dutchy said, looking up from where he was replacing his string.

"Yeah?"

"Well, uh. I've kind of got something I've been working on, it's not much yet but it's... I've got a melody, and I attempted lyrics but they're serious shit."

"Can't be that bad," Blink answered.

"I wrote them in rehab," Dutchy explained. "While going through withdrawal, and generally hating the world, 'cause... Yeah."

"Yeah." Race nodded.

"They made me, god, I can't _believe_... They told a bunch of fucked up teenage junkies to, 'express our feelings through the use of poetry and art.' So it was my fucking poem, but... God, it's bad."

Race nodded sympathetically. "Hey, they made _me_ paint my feelings."

"Yeah?" Dutchy asked.

"Yeah. Black canvas. Dark red blood spatters. That was all."

"You were pissed, I take it?" Itey mused.

"They were making me _paint my feelings_," Race repeated. Dutchy started laughing, and they looked at each other and half-smiled at the thought of what was sort of a shared awful experience, which no one else got. "And they took away all my cocaine," he added.

"Fuckers," Dutchy agreed.

Blink reached for the nearest thing he could find, an old copy of _Rolling Stone_, and chucked it at Dutchy.

"I'll kick your ass," he warned, then turned to Race. "Yours too."

"Hey, we're both clean," Dutchy protested. "Really. Anyway, yeah. Back to the business at hand."

"I want to run through some of our stuff first," Blink said. "Can you have your song down and learned by tomorrow?"

Dutchy nodded, tuning the new string, and strumming a cord. "Yeah, sure. You know, Itey, you should consider singing that publicly to Sophia on your one month."

"But she's heard it," Itey responded, going to his bass and leaving the acoustic next to Spot on the couch. "Guard that."

"I sure won't. Mush, get on it."

Mush shoved Spot.

"I don't know what to do for our one month yet, I'm working on it." Itey shrugged, and avoided eye contact with Race. Race felt vaguely uncomfortable, but really, wasn't about to back out of this conversation.

"Write her another one and if we get the gig, sing it solo for her there." Race shrugged. "And you're _done_. Oh, and flowers. And take her to dinner. "

"Speaking of which," Mush spoke up. "Blinkee, my birthday is soooon."

"I know." Blink winked at him. "I don't forget. Finish tuning, will you?" Blink said to Itey. Itey hurried it along.

Things went smoothly for quite awhile; the next major interruption for rehearsal was halfway through the second run of their next song, which Blink had written. About being the Class Fag, and Mush really looked like he wanted to do some major comforting by the end. Because while the song definitely had a few moments that were amusing, the majority of it was heartbreaking and really, Blink expressed himself much better in lyrics (which he had time to polish) than in casual conversation.

Race's phone started ringing. Blink stopped singing and glared at him, and he apologized quickly and dove for it because... Well, usually when someone was calling it was his Dad, and usually that meant he was in trouble. He hoped he hadn't lost track of time, but no, he still had plenty of time left. But it was his _dad_...

"_Ciao_," he said calmly, wondering what was going on.

"They found your car."

Race listened intently and spoke only occasionally for the next few minutes, hung up, and grinned. "So," he said. "Guess who's getting a new car?"

"WHAT?" Spot demanded, which was basically the feeling of everyone else in the room.

"Well, they found my other car. Trashed. Totally. Beyond all hope of repair. And my dad is definitely not stupid enough to let me have such a nice car without taking out MAJOR insurance on it, sooooo..." He grinned.

"You SUCK," Blink sulked, which was, again, basically the feeling of everyone else in the room.

"You sure are going to blow me in the back seat," Spot said to Race, then grinned and shivered. "I'm cold, someone get me a shirt."

"Wait wait, you just get a new car just like THAT?" Dutchy demanded as Blink took off his hoodie and chucked it over to Spot, who grabbed it gratefully. "What are your limits?"

Race shrugged. "I dunno. Not over a million dollars? I just get a new car. I so rock."

"You so SUCK," Dutchy answered. "I haven't had a freaking car at ALL since I totaled the wagon..."

"And every other driver on the road is grateful for that," Itey answered.

"Oh, shut up. I can reapply for my license in another six months." He paused, "Shit! I've got the whole felony drug thing now, I fucking can't. My life sucks."

"Oh, it does not."

"...and I haven't been laid in three months. My life _does_ suck. God. I need a girl, or a boy, or fucking _someone_..."

"Or better yet, someone to fuck?" Spot suggested.

"HELL yeah."

"Okay, can we get back to rehearsing now?" Blink whined.

"Yeah--"

Race was interrupted when the door from the house burst open and Jack emerged with his hands in the air. "Guess who got laid!"

Everyone made disgusted sounds. "Oh GOD, Jack, not HERE." David, who came in behind Jack, looked equally disgusted. "That's my _sister_ for crying out loud. Blink, I got--"

"The flyer?" Blink rushed towards him. "Let me seeeeee!"

Blink and David started looking over the flyer, and Race took this moment to go and sit by Spot and flop on top of him lazily. Spot glanced down at him.

"Hello."

"Hey." Race grinned. "You look cute; that hoodie's too big for you."

Spot snorted. "I'm not cute, I'm sexy."

"And cute."

"Go away."

"Nah." Race stretched out on him. "I'm comfy. And those two are planning. So Jack." Race turned to him. "You and David screw, eh?"

"NO. SARAH, damn it. SARAH!"

"Yeah sure." Race yawned and snuggled into Spot. "I'm tired..."

"Hey, wait." Jack turned and stared at them, then rolled his eyes. "YOU don't get to make fun of me, you got my brother MUGGED."

"Jack--" Spot started, and Race sat up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It wasn't my fault," he said flatly. "And--Jesus, Jack. Let's go talk outside, huh? Don't want to argue in front of the kids." Race rolled his eyes, and Spot glared.

"Yeah," Jack agreed.

"You two are NOT--" Spot started, but Race shut him up by kissing him.

"We'll hurry, okay? And we promise not to actually hurt each other."

"Like you _could_ hurt me."

"I could make you _cry_, Kelly. Let's go outside."

Jack nodded and lead the way back through the house, as the garage door was still shut, then turned around and faced Race expectantly as they stepped into the living room. "Jack--"

"Tony," Jack snapped. "I don't fucking like you, you're an asshole, you're a snob, and you're spoiled, and you're a fucking drug addict and I _don't_ want you hanging around my brother, who's fucked up enough as it _is_. He doesn't need your 'help'."

Race resisted the urge to shove him. "LOOK," he snapped. "I l--" he couldn't quite say love, not to Jack. "I like your brother, a _lot_, and he means the fucking _world_ to me. I'm _trying_ to stay off drugs and, hey, he _helps_. It wasn't either of our fault that we got mugged."

"Everything ELSE is your fault," Jack snapped. "Okay? Sean is so totally in love with you that he doesn't even SEE how bad for him you are. I sure as hell ain't about to sit around and watch you take my brother away from me. And thanks to you, Dutchy almost died, I don't care what anyone says, you fucked up that night, and you can't compensate for it. You piss me off, Higgins. You have NO idea."

"I didn't do a goddamn THING to Dutchy," Race snapped back. "Fuck _you_ because you all saw the fucking symptoms and it doesn't take a coke addict to know one. And the fact that YOU didn't give a damn until he landed himself in the hospital isn't MY fucking fault, I'm just your damn scapegoat, but it wasn't my fucking _fault_!"

"Yeah? Well you sure as hell didn't help any," Jack answered coldly.

"No, I didn't," Race answered. "But NEITHER did YOU."

Jack grabbed the front of Race's shirt, pushing him slightly into the wall, obviously losing his control--if he'd had any in the first place. "I've been there for him for the past eight fucking years. Through all of his fucked up family situations, to every single fucking puny paper cut. All you did was snort some coke and freak out Mush so we could call 9-1-1. At least I was there AT ONE POINT." Jack clenched his teeth. "Then you show up with your fancy car and your stupid Italian fucking family--"

"DON'T insult my family," Race snapped.

"Your father is a dickhead who did nothing but--"

"I DEFENDED you that night, asshole!" Race pushed at Jack, and Jack was surprised to find himself tumbling back a little. "You wouldn't fucking believe what I went through."

"We've all been through shit!" Jack yelled. "But you get the easy ride out because you're a little rich boy!"

"I got an EASY GODDAMN RIDE?" Race yelled back, not caring that they could probably be heard inside the garage. He had wanted to keep things civil, for Spot's sake, he hadn't wanted this fight. But he just plain couldn't take this. "You just shut the hell up, you don't know a damn THING about what I went through. You fucking DON'T KNOW and wouldn't care if you DID because your head is too far up your ass to see how much I like Spot. I'm not fucking dating YOU and I really don't give a shit if you hate me, I just want to make HIM happy so if you don't like me at least be civil enough to _your own damn brother_ to leave _me_ the fuck alone."

Jack stared, and finally averted his eyes, biting the corner of his cheek. Race noted he was clenching and unclenching his fists, and felt himself tense up, getting defensive--just in case.

"Fine. Fuck you," Jack's voice snapped harshly. "I'll be fucking civil, but _only_ because of Sean. That's the only goddamned reason." Jack looked him over. "He deserved a fucking lot better than you."

"Yeah? What are you so damn afraid of, that I'll spend too much money on him? Cook for him too often or treat him too well? What the FUCK is your problem, all I want to do is be WITH him."

"You _asshole_," Jack snarled. "YOU'RE my fucking problem, you're selfish and arrogant and he deserves someone who'll LOVE him."

"I fucking _do_ love him," Race hissed. "So you just keep your goddamn mouth shut."

Jack blinked a little, obviously surprised. He shook his head. "You what?"

"You heard me," Race replied, angry that Jack had made him admit it within earshot of all of their friends. "So would you back the hell off? I'll take care of him, okay? I'm not going to fuck him over and if I can help it, nothing will ever break me and Spot up." Race shook his head. "And I don't care how hard you try, but I'm not backing out, because I've never loved anyone before, and it's goddamn real and I need him. And I want to see him. So fuck you."

Jack cracked his knuckles. "You're such a prick."

"You're such an asshole."

"You suck."

"You wish I did."

Jack made a face. "We're not on joking terms, Mario, so fuck you."

"Fine, Kelly, we're not."

Jack sized him up one last time. "You'd better fucking be for real about this."

"I. Am." Now Race was just annoyed; he didn't know how to prove how serious he was other than by being serious, and Jack refused to admit that was even possible.

"You'd BETTER be."

"I AM. Jesus, even _I'm_ not this fucking protective."

Jack snorted and opened the door. "...I still don't fucking like you."

"Back at you."

Race followed Jack back inside where, as expected, everyone was watching the door, waiting for them. It was kind of funny because as soon as they walked through it, everyone IMMEDIATLY busied themselves with other things. Dutchy started strumming happily on his guitar, Blink was poking at the microphone, Mush was tying his shoelaces, Itey was whistling and shuffling his feet, David kept clearing his throat and hiding his face in a magazine, and Spot was...

Well, glaring at the both of them.

"_Hello_ you two," he snapped.

"Hey," Jack and Race said at the same time, and then they glared at each other. Race hurried over to his drum set, sat down, and went nuts.

Everyone took it as a good sign that he and Jack hadn't exchanged blows considering how hard Race was pummeling the drums.

Race's drum playing seemed to improve Spot's mood greatly, which was a good thing because it improved his own. He couldn't help but feel a bit better about the world when Spot was looking at him like _that_.

Of course, the fact that he and Spot were sharing significant looks certainly served to make Jack's mood worse, but Race didn't care. He didn't really care about anything at that moment, except Spot. More than anything, he wanted to be with Spot, in Spot's arms, not necessarily _doing_ anything, just _together_. He wanted to be able to bring Spot home, introduce him to his family as his boyfriend; have them smile and accept Spot into their home.

Which he knew would never, ever happen. And Jack fucking thought he had it _easy_... He threw a look at Spot, who smirked back and licked his lips, and Race almost threw a drumstick at him. "Ass," he muttered.

"Um, if you two are done fighting, and YOU two are done giving each other _looks_," Blink interrupted, "could we get back to actually rehearsing now?"

"Yeah." Race sighed, and did a quick fill. "K, quick go."

"...what?"

"Just GO, I need to freaking play." Race flipped his sticks in his hand. "Spot?"

"What?" Spot asked, glancing up from looking through a dirty magazine with Mush.

"Come see a movie with me after this."

"K." Spot turned back to the magazine. Blink and Race gave each other 'looks' (their boyfriends WERE looking at porn together) and finally started off playing.

Jack pouted in his seat next to David, who sighed. "I hate everything," Jack yelled to him, though it couldn't really be heard over the music. David understood anyway. He put his arm around him, and Jack leaned into him slightly, but extremely self cautiously because of all the jokes they'd been getting all day.

The music settled down, and Spot frowned. "Shit," he muttered.

Race gave him a questioning look.

"I'm fucking grounded." He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah; for some reason Mom was pissed at you. Something about disappearing without a trace."

"It wasn't without a trace, asshole, I was at my boyfriend's house. Is it MY fault you're too stupid to look there?"

Race smirked a little and pretended to adjust his drumset wile they fought. He knew he shouldn't like that they were fighting, he didn't want Spot to be unhappy about anything, ever. But he was glad Spot was sticking up for him and for himself.

"Tony," Spot said after a long, awkward quiet, because Jack didn't have a comeback. "You should come watch a movie at my house instead."

Race shrugged. "Uh, okay," he agreed. "If my dad'll let me."

Jack snorted and Spot shoved him, sent him sprawling into David, who squawked in a very undignified manner.

"I didn't say ANYTHING," Jack snapped at Spot.

"I know, that was a do-you-mind-if-he-comes-over type of shove, jackass."

"Oh. Whatever." Jack straightened up and then slumped again, against David, sulking slightly.

"You can always eat dinner at my house, now that you and Sarah are talking again," David offered kindly.

"Sure." Jack looked over at Spot, who was smirking, then at everyone else in the room. Who were also all smirking. "I hate you ALL."

"But we know who you looooo-ooove." Mush sang. Jack gave him the finger, and finally, stood up and stretched.

"I'm pissed off right now and I only want to talk to Davey--David." He cleared his throat. "So screw you all, I'm going to David's."

"Uh, but I--"

"Come on David."

"Fine." David snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Grumpy..."

"Brat."

"Hurry up and GO, we have a practice to finish!" Blink snapped, and Jack half-dragged David out of the room.

Itey made an annoyed noise. "Blinkee..." he said, checking his watch. "I have to pick up Sophie soon, I gotta go."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, and I better call my dad and see if I can go to Spot's." Race winced as Blink swore.

"But we have a GIG--"

"And we got a lot done today," Dutchy said for him. "We'll be fine. Tomorrow, we'll focus more. No blow jobs, no fooling around in your room."

"Hey, no blow jobs?" Spot snorted. "I might as well not be here at all then."

Race smiled at him. "I so can't wait to have a car again," Race answered, as he moved from the drumset to find his cell phone and hit the speed dial for his father, nervously. His father would probably not want him to spend the evening at Spot's. He probably wouldn't like that at _all_...

His father picked up.

"Dad?" he asked, and wished everyone wasn't listening in. Though really, he could switch to Italian if things got bad enough, which he hoped they wouldn't. "...Yeah, I was just invited to Sean's house for awhile and... _Please_ Dad, I finished all my homework in study hall... _Dad_! That's not-- Yes, sir... No; I didn't fail it, sir, I-- .... Yes, I'll study tonight, I swear to--No, I wasn't taking the Lord's name in vain, I was--...I'm _sorry_, Sir... Please, it's just--... Thank you. Sir. Thank you. _Yes_, I promise. _Thank_ you."

He hung up and ignored the awkward looks he was getting until, "You call him _sir_?"

"_Yes_ I fucking call him _sir_," Race answered, and looked up at Blink, who'd asked the question. "You met him."

Blink nodded and shrugged a little. "Yeah; yeah. Just... Man, I can't picture ever being that polite to my dad."

"Your dad is a prick," Dutchy said, strumming goofily at his guitar before turning off the amp. "But hey, wait..." Dutchy turned to Race. "So's _yours_."

Race wanted to defend his father, remind Dutchy that if it wasn't for Mr. Higgins, he'd probably have been on his knees, scrubbing floors in Juvie Hall. Then he remembered that Dutchy was never, EVER, to know about that.

Race shrugged. "A prick who's letting me go to my boy's house, so he's flying pretty straight with me at the current time." Race threw a grin at Spot. "Hey, since Jack won't be home--"

"Denise will. Oh." Spot shrugged, and then stopped talking, realizing he was about to tell Race that Denise wanted to meet him with the other guys around. "Nnnnevermind. Tell you later."

Race gave him a strange look, and shrugged. "Okay," he agreed. "So do we want to play anything else or--"

"Gottapickupsophiabye!" Itey fled the garage with a wave, bass in one hand and his bookbag in his other.

"Well, that answers that question," Blink sighed, the turned to Dutchy. "My dad is not a prick. He lets me throw parties, buys us alcohol, and lets us practice in the garage."

Dutchy shrugged. "Right; because he does that for the sake of being a great father."

"Shut UP."

Race wanted to ask what that was all about, but decided it would probably be an insensitive question.

Besides, given how close Blink and Spot seemed to be all of a sudden, he could always pump Spot for info later. (And he amused himself by thinking about how much that sounded like a euphemism.)

"Hey, Tony."

Race glanced up as he stuffed his drumsticks into his backpack, wincing when he heard the cracking noise; he broke drumsticks more than any other drummer he knew.

"What?" he replied to Blink, who was grinning far too mischievously for his tastes.

"Itey really REALLY likes your sister now; you know that, right?"

Race raised an eyebrow. "I'm not stupid. Yeah, I know."

"So, uh..." Blink lowered his voice, even though Itey wasn't there. "So come on, you gotta give us some dirt on Itey."

"...what?"

"For as long as we've known the guy, he's never liked ANYONE. Never dated ANYBODY," Dutchy supplied, clearing up the mess they'd made during practice. "So now that he does, it's our duty to make his life as annoying as humanly possible."

Race considered. "All I know is how stupid Sophia is acting."

"So? He drops her off--stake them out. How many times do they kiss? Is there tongue?"

"They've _kissed_?" Race snapped. "How many times?"

"Itey says they haven't, but he's embarrassed to talk about--"

"I'll kill him."

"Emergency subject change," Blink broke in. "Spot, baby, I love you in that shirt."

"Yeah; it's _yours_," Spot pointed out.

"I know. I have amazing fashion sense. It's too big for you."

"...You're either really stupid or really unobservant or both."

"Shut up."

And then they started laughing again.

"Okay, so those two are now officially insane," Mush decided, then looked at Blink. "Let's get dinner somewhere tonight."

Blink nodded his agreement, and they started off together; Spot and Race also stood. Dutchy sighed from the floor, where he was finishing packing up his guitar. "Great, you four go have fun. I'm gonna sit in my house, you know, _alone_, and stare at a wall."

"Have fun with that," Spot said, and Race whacked his shoulder.

Blink rolled his eyes. "GEE, Dutch, you wanna come WITH us?"

Dutchy grinned. "Aw, I knew you loved me." He paused. "Threesome?"

"Fuck _you_."

"See, that's my point."

"Pervert."

Dutchy laughed and the five left Blink's garage for the afternoon.

* * *

F: Wow, this chapter took a lot longer than it should have for very painful, awful, suicidal reasons. SERIOUSLY.

B: My computer died. It DIED and I had no computer and then _I_ almost died!! And then the chapter had to be reformatted TWICE and since it's freaking twenty-five pages long, that took forever, and really, if I never read this chapter again, it'll be too soon.

F: Don't take that as a sign that we don't love our ficcie...

B: We adore it. But dude, it's 4 AM and we've been formatting since 11:30. So now, we're going to bed. Ta ta.

F: This chapter was celebrated with craisons, frosted flakes, crackers and cheese.

[As always, thanks to TSB for beta-ing and making snarky comments.]


	17. Loving You

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

I wish I was like you  
Easily amused  
Find my nest of salt  
Everything is my fault  
I'll take all the blame  
Aqua seafoam shame  
Sunburn with freezerburn  
Choking on the ashes of her enemy  
-Nirvana, _All Apologies_

**_Chapter 17: Loving You_**

"You're a bitch," David commented, twirling the steering wheel of Jack's van as they drove down seventeenth towards Peter's Drive In.

Jack shot him a look. "Why?"

"Because." David shrugged, pulling into the drive-thru, and honking angrily at a car full of teenaged girls--Jack gave them all grins. "You're being mean to Tony and provoking him. When he's provoked, it's not fun. So cut it out, okay?"

"I'm sure not listening." David rolled down the window and Jack leaned across him to order. David hated talking into the drive through speakers. "Two cheeseburgers, one with extra onions, one extra cheese, one strawberry milkshake, one root beer, one case of onion rings, one case of fries." He turned back to David. "Besides, we reached an understanding. Mutual hatred. You want extra onion rings today?"

"No thanks. What the hell do you have against him?"

"What does he have against _me_?"

"The fact that you hate him and are a dickhead to him?" David suggested. "Seriously, what's your issue? I know you're not thrilled with him and Spot, but honestly, I've never seen either of them happier." He paused. "Oh, _that's_ your problem."

"Shut up."

"You're Spot's brother and now he's got someone else to trust."

"Shut UP."

"I'm so right."

"I'm so not paying for your food today."

"Fine, don't." David dug into his pocket, grabbed his wallet, and covered the dual meal. "It was my turn anyway. But seriously, lighten up on Tony."

"How about I don't, and you let it fucking drop?"

"How about you tell me what's really bothering you, and then we let it drop?"

"How about you stop being such a fucking _woman_?"

"How about _you_ stop being _gay_ so people will stop calling _me_ gay?"

"I am _not_!" Jack objected as he accepted the food from the window and David began to drive off. "And you know it."

"Yeah, I know. So what the hell's your problem with Tony?"

"You're not gonna let this drop, are you?"

"Doesn't look like it. Hand me my shake?" He paused again. "Jesus, we _are_ dating."

Jack snorted and handed him the milkshake.

David sipped on his milkshake. "Will you take over driving? People don't know how."

"YOU don't know how."

"Neither do people. Get out." David pulled over and hopped out of the car, and Jack sighed as he unbuckled his seat belt and they quickly changed spots. Once back in the van, Jack started it up and checked his watch.

"Movie doesn't start until 7:30...we got twenty minutes."

"Drive and talk then," David said. "Jack, seriously, I know your deal. You think that--"

"It's not just Spot, okay?" Jack snapped. "I mean, he's most of it but...well, none of us freaking knew Tony before this and he comes barging in and suddenly everyone loves him and he can do anything. I'm fucking sick of it."

"Okay, but I _did_ freaking know Tony before this, and he actually isn't as much of an asshole as you think he is."

"Yeah, right."

"It IS right, Jack. I mean, God, _you're_ my best friend, but I would have died at school without him. Seriously, you want to see what spoiled kids who are _actually_ jerks act like, you should see that fucking school."

"I thought you loved it."

"I love the classes. I love the newspaper. I detest the people. Even the idiot newspaper staff." He rolled his eyes. "It's a damn good thing I'm in charge next semester, because someone needs to teach those morons how to write in complete sentences."

Jack had to smile; David was _so_ righteous when it came to 'his' newspaper, but that was beside the point. "So? Other people are jerks too. Tony's one of them."

"He's not."

"Jesus, okay, I expect everyone else to fight with me, but can't _you_ at least support me?" Jack demanded. "You're supposed to be my best friend here, Davey, I'm not feeling the love tonight."

"And you wonder why people think we're gay."

"Not really."

"...And you're wrong about Tony, and you still haven't told me why you're pissed at him."

Jack sighed, and didn't say anything as he drove on. David didn't push it, knowing that Jack was just composing his thoughts, and he ate at his cheeseburger while Jack, like David knew he would, turned off of seventeenth and wound up on the hill just out of the suburbs where kids usually went to get romantic with each other.

"Jack, if anyone sees us..."

"I _know_, but I have to talk to you and it was a place to turn off. Besides..." Jack glanced around. "The make out crowd hasn't shown up yet. Too early."

David shrugged. "Fine, whatever you say. Let's get out of your van, it smells like...your van."

"Funny thing."

"A funny _not good_ thing." David grabbed the bag of food and got out, taking a seat on the hood of the van without asking Jack if he was going to come.

Jack did, of course, and grabbed his own cheeseburger when he sat down next to David on the hood.

"So," David said. "What _is_ it?"

"...I dunno." Jack shrugged. "A lot of it is Dutchy sometimes. Because I didn't even see he had a problem, and Tony did."

"...Jack, it's not your--"

"I was with him all the time," Jack interrupted. "You know, me and Dutchy hang out a lot. We used to smoke up together before I quit. So I should've noticed and I fucking didn't and he fucking did."

"So... you feel guilty," David surmised. "Because you think you failed Dutchy."

"I DID fail Dutchy."

"Well, so did I, and so did Blink and Itey and Spot and his mother and everyone at school." David shrugged. "Shit happens."

"How the hell can you just shrug it off like that? _You're_ the ultra sensitive one."

David sighed. "I beat myself up a lot when Tony tried to kill himself."

"He tried to--"

"Dutchy was getting high for fun, I think; Tony was doing it to be _numb_. I don't think he thinks of it like that, but basically he was waiting for his father to notice and care--which he didn't, because his father IS an asshole--or to just... waste away. He was hurting so bad, he's _real_ messed up. Could give Spot a run for his money. And Mush and I--we both missed it, until he was so bad we _couldn't_ miss it, and then it was too late for us to do him any good on our own and he... OD'd." He reached for his milkshake, stared out at the city in front of him, not able to look at Jack. "And, you know, I eventually figured that it wasn't my fault."

"You, uh, don't _sound_ like you figured that."

David shrugged. "I mean, I _know_ it wasn't my fault, but... But you know, it wasn't my fault he started; it wasn't your fault Dutchy did. We didn't catch them in time, so we blame ourselves, but they love us anyway. And we can keep them from doing it again."

"We will," Jack agreed. "If it kills me."

"See?" David slurped up the last of his milkshake. "If you kill yourself over these mistakes, then you'll be dead more times than you can count."

Jack stared at David, still chewing somewhat mechanically on his cheeseburger. He swallowed, and wrapped up the rest, sticking it in the bag. "Davey?"

David looked at him, straw still in his mouth, and raised his eyebrows.

Jack laughed. "I can't be serious when you're sucking on a straw, man."

David made a huge slurp and Jack laughed again.

"...So you feel guilty; don't blame Tony."

"He really didn't help Dutchy."

"He did try to, though. Cut him some slack."

Jack groaned. "Maybe I just don't want to admit the fucker is actually better than I am."

"Ooooh, now we get down to the actual _jealousy_."

"Shut UP."

"Hey, don't worry. _I'm_ jealous of Tony. I mean, I'm the token poor kid at his school; I get to be stared at by two hundred Tonys every day. He's _way_ nicer than the rest of them, trust me."

"Are they really that bad?"

"YES," David answered emphatically. "All but him and Mush, I swear."

"So why do you go, then? You didn't have to take the scholarship."

David sighed, and finally admitted, "I really want to do something with my life, Jack. I know--I guess I sound like a jerk, but I _know_ I'm smart and all, and I want to go and _do_ something with it and not a lot of people from our school really do. So..."

"So you got the hell out," Jack agreed, nodding. "Okay. That makes sense. But I like how it's still 'our school,' and 'Tony's school,' even though you've been _there_ for the last three years."

"Well, you know. I'm a total freak _there_. Here I'm just..."

"A big dork?"

"Yeah." David smiled. "You love that about me."

"I so do. Geek."

David thwacked Jack's shoulder. "Jock," he accused.

"Wuss."

"Imbecile."

"Braniac."

"Neanderthal."

They paused and looked at each other, cracked up in unison, and finished their meal.

*

"I can't believe I have to meet your fucking mom, you asshole."

"She's not my mom. She's Jack's mom."

"I can't believe I have to meet her anyway."

"What's the big deal?"

"What's the _big deal?"_ Race stared at Spot. "You waited until NOW to tell me, and I look like shit, haven't had a chance to brush up on my charm, and now I have to meet her without being prepared what so ever, you JERK."

"Shut up." Spot smirked down at him, leaning forward to kiss him. Race dodged.

"You don't get a kiss, bitch."

"Baby."

"I am not."

"Pussy."

"Fuck YOU."

"Maybe once Denise goes to bed," Spot agreed.

"You're impossible. And an asshole."

"You know it," Spot agreed, and noted that Denise's car was parked in the drive. He lead Race into the house and saw that she was flipping channels in the living room, feet kicked up on a coffee table, and he suddenly wished he'd cleaned up before Race got there. It just felt strange, because Race's house was so immaculate and his was... Kind of a mess. Certainly not dirty or gross, but the carpet was about twenty years old and a shade of orange that wasn't found in nature anywhere, and the furniture was all faded and from the mid-70s sometime; stacks of old newspapers and magazines were piled on the coffee table and next to the couch, and there were a few dishes left sitting around.

"Uh, Denise?" he said hesitantly.

"Sean, what's up?" she asked, not looking up from the television.

"You wanted to meet Tony," he reminded her, and pushed Race into the room as she looked up. "So, uh. I brought him over."

She raised an eyebrow and gave Race the once over. He half-waved nervously, which was ridiculous, because he was never nervous to meet new people. But... Denise was sort of important to Spot, which made making a good impression sort of important to him. Which made him nervous.

He really missed the days when he didn't give a damn what people thought.

Denise sat up a little in her seat, and then glanced over Race at Spot. "He's _cute_."

Spot rolled his eyes. Race didn't even have to look to know that he was. She looked back at Race. "You got any life ambitions?"

"Yeah, I--"

"You going go graduate?"

"Yes, of--"

"Do you like salmon?"

"Yeah," Race said, then continued when he realized he could. "Yeah, yeah, I love salmon."

"Great, we got some stuff from the grocery store. Eh, Sean, I got salmon today, twenty dollars, doesn't come cheap, and I didn't even know he was coming."

"Nice call, Denise," Spot smirked. "Did you--"

"No. You eat nothing but that."

"So?"

"So you need protein and you're too skinny. You." She pointed at Race. "I hear you can cook?"

"...yeah?"

"Follow me."

"Denise," Spot objected. "Don't make him--"

"No, it's cool," Race interrupted. "I like cooking." He paused, and smirked. "You could set the table."

"I hate you."

"You do not."

"I so do."

Race gave him a look.

"Shut up and cook me dinner, bitch," he finally said, and Race laughed and followed Denise into the kitchen.

"So, salmon?" he asked.

"So, cocaine?" she demanded. He kind of gaped. "Look, that was blunt, I know. But Sean's my responsibility, and I get that you make him really happy, but if you're going to--"

"I'm not," Race interrupted, and he really wanted to tell her off for making assumptions but... Well, they hadn't been entirely incorrect; he was an addict, after all. Just not an active one. "I'm really not, I care about him too much for that. I wouldn't want to see him get as messed up as I was."

Denise raised her eyebrows, but the point was clearly not dropped. "I see..."

"No, really I--"

"Listen, Tony." She opened up the fridge, "I know you like my--I know you like Sean, and I know he likes you, but I also know Jack can overreact when he doesn't have enough attention. _However_." She slid a frying pan down the counter and he stopped it before it crashed into anything. "Nice catch. However, cocaine is cocaine, and my Sean is my Sean and he has a lot going on already."

"...so what?" Race gulped. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you better hold to your word of taking care of him." She pointed a finger. "He's a good kid. He just hides it, but he is."

"I know," Race agreed. "I--I sort of know him pretty well now."

"Oh?" She sounded surprised. "Well, that's good, if he likes you enough to act like himself instead of like..." She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

"Yeah; he acted like that for awhile. I'm pretty glad he stopped."

"HEY I can HEAR YOU, dickhead!"

"Didn't I tell you to set the table?" Race yelled back.

"SHUT UP."

Denise gave him a confused look. "Do I want to ask what all that nonsense is?"

"Not really."

"Okay." She grabbed a large knife out of a drawer and turned towards Race, who jumped back a little. She grinned. "Awfully menacing thing, isn't it? Don't mess around with Sean."

"Uh--"

"I'm not _actually_ going to stab you, Tony," she promised. "But keep the giant knife in mind."

He nodded quickly. "Where do you keep seasonings?" he asked, covering for being a little frightened, as she began to use the knife. "I know a great recipe--"

"Good, you cook," she said. "I hate it, I usually just order in. But since you volunteered..." She grinned and set down the knife. "If I send in Sean, can I trust that you two won't do anything disgusting on my food?"

He kind of stared at her again, and whimpered a little.

"I _like_ him," she called to Spot in the living room. "He's fun to scare. Now you come keep him company."

Spot was more than happy to do as she suggested.

As Spot came into the room, she watched with amusement as Race grabbed a post-it (without asking, she loved it) from the counter and started jotting down the recipe he mentioned.

"He gets all squirmy when he's afraid," Denise said to Spot. "It's great."

"I know, and he's moody too."

"I am not!"

"Bye Denise." Spot pushed her lightly out of the kitchen by her back, and she slapped at his hands.

"I get some of that dinner, and it better be good. Oh oh! You wouldn't believe it, the back room of Babylon got closed down"

Spot made a face. "What?"

"No joke!"

"Is it going to reopen?"

"I don't know!"

"Probably."

"Yeah, Brian and Justin need another place to have sex." Denise smacked the back of his head lovingly, and left the room. Spot turned to see his boyfriend staring at him.

"What the hell?"

_"Queer as Folk."_

"...you watch that?"

"No."

"Then why do you know about it?"

"Brian's hot," Spot said simply, and then walked over to Race and slid his arms around his waist, kissing his neck. "I was fucking awesome earlier today..." he mumbled.

"You sure fucking were," Race agreed, and blushed a little. But Spot didn't see, because he'd buried his face in Race's neck, and just... Stood there. Race put his arms around Spot a little awkwardly. It was odd; he didn't think of Spot as affectionate, or as the sort who just liked to hug, but... Well, he reasoned, everyone just needed to feel someone's arms around them _sometimes_. So he set down the post-it note and pen, and leant against the counter and kissed Spot's cheek.

Spot smiled and pulled away.

"You okay?" Race asked.

"Yeah, just... You know, usually after something like that I disappear. I'm not used to seeing the same guy cook for me after and know that you'll actually be here later..." Spot shook his head a little. "I sound like such a pussy."

"You really do. But hey, it's cute. Now move, I gotta cook."

"Tonyyyyy."

"What? You sprung the whole 'meeting your m--foster mom' thing on me; now I've got to make a good impression."

Spot leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips before he could do anything, and Race softened a little, easing into the kiss and slipping his arm around Spot's tiny waist while Spot rested his hand on Race's elbow.

Right after Spot pushed his tongue in Race's mouth, Race pulled away, grabbing Spot's ass quickly, before turning back to his recipe. "Stop distracting me. Go jerk off."

"Nah, I'll keep it around for later."

Race made a face as Spot grinned and opened the freezer, grabbing a popsicle.

"Don't eat that before dinner!"

Spot flipped him off, and leaned against the counter, sucking a might too suggestively on his popsicle for Race to concentrate.

"You suck," Race mumbled at him, as he returned to cooking.

"I sure will, after dinner," Spot agreed, and Race stared at him. He shrugged, and smiled, and Race suddenly felt really nervous because... Well, it just felt as if suddenly the sexual portion of their relationship had been pushed in there, BAM, so suddenly. Nothing gradual about it. And Race felt nervous and...odd, but at the same time, he couldn't deny that he liked it. A lot. Still though, it made him a little...uncomfortable.

"Uh, okay," Race agreed.

Spot hesitated. "You _are_ okay with what we did earlier, right?" he asked. "I know you didn't--"

"It's fine," Race promised. "Uh, yeah. You know. Just new to me."

"Viiiirgin," Spot laughed.

"Shut _up_. I..." Race smacked his waist as he walked by and turned the stove on. "Shut up, will you? I'm not a whore."

"Now you're _my_ whore." Spot stamped his foot a little. "I want attentioooonn."

"SPOT. You know I love you, you know I want to, but not now."

"Fucker."

"Yeah yeah." Race turned to him. "You so love me."

"Uh huh."

"You do."

"Right."

Race frowned, feeling suddenly annoyed as he set up the kitchen for his Kelly Household Cooking Debut. "Sean, come ON."

"I said it first, thus, I don't have to say it all the time. I shouldn't have to say it more than once."

"HEY."

Spot stuck his tongue out, and Race, not willing to admit he had slightly hurt feelings, turned to the stove. He began to prepare the batter for the salmon, and ignored Spot's sucking on his popsicle, ignored Spot's whining, and ignored how much he wanted to kiss Spot's now purple lips. Until Spot sighed and sat down on the counter next to where Race was working. "Jesus, I do love you. Okay? I so do. I just don't say it much, 'cause I'm not... Used to loving someone. Sorry."

And Race beamed back at him. "I love you too. It's okay."

"It is?"

"Yes." He poked Spot's thigh with the end of his spoon. "Move, I need counter space."

"You're sexy when you cook."

"I sure fucking am."

"You'd be sexier when going down on me."

"Uh huh. Move."

Spot sighed and hopped off the counter. "So," he said after standing around, bored, for a minute. "Can I help?"

"You can-"

"I am NOT setting the damn table."

Race grinned. "You can chop those vegetables." He gestured with his spoon. "Don't mess them up."

Spot stared down at the vegetables, and then had to laugh. "Uh...is there a certain WAY to do it?" Race stared at him. "What?"

"For Christ's..." Race grabbed a red pepper, and proceeded to chop it up quickly and with an expert flip of his wrist. "Like that, okay? Watch your fingers."

Spot shook his head. "You're so hot."

"Yeah, well, you won't be until you chop those right."

Spot cautiously chopped the side of another red pepper, obviously paranoid of doing it wrong, and Race had to smile.

Something about cooking with Spot seemed...really amazing. And maybe even a little overwhelming because he'd never wanted to spend time with someone so much before in his life, besides Maria.

And it occurred to Race then that he actually really was seriously in love.

But he kept that thought firmly to himself as he finished off the batter and began to heat the pan. He glanced over Spot's shoulder and watched for a minute.

"You're making me paranoid!" Spot yelped.

"That was the idea." Race paused, then licked Spot's ear, and went back to the batter and the salmon. Spot stared after him for a second.

"So I take it I was doing it right?" He paused. "Okay, how the hell do you cut a tomato without it getting all squished?"

Race left his fish again, walked over to Spot, stood behind him and put his arms around Spot, rested his hand on Spot's and took the knife. He chopped the first section of the tomato and let Spot's hands go so he could finish, but didn't move, just stood _right there_, his arms still around Spot.

"...You're not gonna lick me again, are you?" Spot mumbled. "'Cause that was distracting as hell."

So Race kissed his neck instead.

Spot swatted at him. "Fuck off and cook, you're too late."

Race grinned and licked at his neck again before reluctantly letting go and making his way back to the fish, and saw Denise standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Race yelped, turned beet red, and hurried back to his salmon, concentrating a bit too hard on temperatures.

Spot grinned at Denise who shot him a wink. "Sean, where's your brother?"

"Went out with Davey. Why?"

"His girlfriend left..." Denise looked at her notepad. She kept all phone messages on a notepad; it was her thing. "Four messages."

Race snorted. "That's so Sarah, it isn't even funny."

"Is the bitch just bitchy or bitchiER?" Spot asked.

"I didn't ask. That smells good." Race smiled. "Anyhow, it'd be great if Jack could stay at David's tonight. Because otherwise he comes in at... like, four AM and I'm sleeping and he wakes me up. So you leave him a message at David's and tell him that. Also, the school called. Why didn't you TELL me you submitted something to the Literary Magazine?"

Race stopped what he was doing and turned around.

"WHAT?"

"Denise, shut up," Spot said through his teeth, and turned back to the counter.

"I won't shut up, this could be your chance to actually graduate." She gave his back a pat. "We'll talk later. Call you brother. I'll be back in twenty, I have to pick up my prescription and then I'm gonna meet Debbie about carpooling tomorrow. Bye doll." She smiled at Race. "Mario."

"Angelina," Race answered, bowing his head.

"I _do_ like him," she mused. "Behave yourself, kids. Leave me food. Don't set the kitchen on fire." And with those sage words of parental guidance, she left them on their own.

Race turned to Spot incredulously. "You submitted a story to literary magazine!" His voice was partially amazed and partially accusatory.

"I did NOT," Spot snapped. "My math teacher found it in my notes and submitted it for me, and my bitch English teacher said it was either let it go in or fail English. So." He shrugged. "Whatever, it's not a big deal. I'm just mad they didn't ASK."

"But Spot, your stuff is good," Race insisted. "REALLY good, like... You think it's hot when I play drums, I think it's hot that you can write. Okay?"

Spot smirked at him. "Good to know," he said, then hesitantly, "So, uh, what do you think of Denise?"

Race hunched his shoulders a bit. "I think she likes me, but I don't know if that's code for 'I'm going to kill you' or 'run for your life because I'm going to kill you TWICE.'"

Spot grinned. "Okay, so what do you THINK of her?"

"She's kind of like...a cool mom. I didn't think they existed anymore. She's really nice." Race paused. "And she really loves you."

Spot made a face, re-arranging all of his chopped vegetables into color coordinated piles. "Yeah, funny, 'cause I'm not her kid."

"So? You can tell she does. She smiled more when you did. I think she wishes you'd be more loving to her."

With a snort, Spot poked Race's ribs and nudged his head at his vegetables. Race grabbed them, hurried them into a small bowl, and went back to the food. "I'm not her kid. Things don't work that way. "

"But--"

"It'd be alright if they did, but they don't."

"Yeah, but they might if you LET them, Spot. I mean--you and I met less than a month ago, and I love you already. There's no reason why she shouldn't."

"Sure there is. Twice in three months I've been here I've run off and let her deal with the consequences and the State and all, if I was her I'd be kicking me out by now."

"But she hasn't, so that's gotta say SOMETHING."

Spot shook his head. "Whatever. Just--you know, she's not my mom."

"Yeah but... Seriously, Spot, she cares about you. She threatened me with a knife if I hurt you."

"She's pretty cool," Spot agreed, laughing. "I think she does like you."

"I hope so. Because this kitchen isn't very well stocked so I'm improvising half the recipe, so it'll be interesting."

"It'll be fine."

"Uh huh." Race shrugged. "I've gotta take care of the fish before it spoils."

Spot shrugged, and then looked down at his hoodie. "Heh. I'm still wearing Blink."

"Yeah, what is UP with you two all of a sudden?" Race asked, coming out far more defensive than he meant to.

"Awwww." Spot gave Race's foot a kick. "Look who's jealous."

"Shut up."

"We talked about you in Study Hall." Spot grinned. "And compared you and Mush in the penis area."

"Har dee har."

"It's funny 'cause it's true."

Race paused, and then turned back to look at him. "WHAT?"

"It's okay, you're doing pretty well. "

"Yeah, I _know_ but--what the hell were you two doing? What did you tell him?" Race demanded.

Spot smirked.

"Oh, you are SO not having sex in the foreseeable future," Race muttered.

"...Blink and Mush are."

"I don't want to know!" Race yelled, then, "Wait, you mean they haven't yet? I don't want to know!"

"You _so_ do."

"Yes, but it's none of my business and--"

"Those two are nuts, they do it _everywhere_. At Mush's job once, wherever the hell that is."

Race stared at him for a second, then blinked a few times. "Gross," he said finally. "Just... You know, I _don't_ want to know."

"You do so."

"I do NOT." He paused again, turned back to the fish he was slicing, and finally asked, "So... what was up with Blink and Dutchy and Blink's dad...?"

"What?"

"Dutchy and Blink were arguing about it."

"Oh, that." Spot laughed. "It's stupid, really."

"So, tell."

"Eh... I guess, like, when they were kids or whatever, Blink's dad caught Dutchy 'borrowing' from his Playboy collection. Dutchy says Blink's dad was really mean about it and traumatized him. Blink says his dad tried to explain how it wasn't appropriate for a twelve year old and..." Spot shrugged.

"And Dutchy's still bitter about this?"

"Apparently."

"Wow. He needs therapy."

"Well, _duh."_

Spot cleared his throat. "Anyway."

Race looked down at his food. "Oooh, almost done. I'm the greatest cook EVER."

"You so ARE. God, you're like my own personal chef. My own, personal, sexy Italian chef..."

"You okay there, buddy?" Race asked, amused, because Spot sounded like he was getting off just on the _concept_ of Race cooking for him.

"Fine. Just looking forward to dinner. And desert."

"What's for desert?"

Spot smirked, and licked his lips, and answered, "You," in a breathy voice. "I did promise," he added.

Race blanched a little. He wasn't sure he was up for too much more screwing around in one day.

Finally, after Spot finished off a second popsicle, Race scurried across the kitchen floor (at one point tripping slightly and crashing into the counter, which sent Spot off into hysterics) and grabbed a dinner plate from the cupboard, setting the salmon on top, and scattering the vegetables in a color coordinated fashion around it, while setting the broccoli and carrots in another bowl.

"Does your family drink milk or what for dinner? Because David's house has this Kosher Grape Juice, and Mushee's house has milk and--"

"Dude, Root Beer."

"For _dinner_?"

"For dinner."

Race shook his head, pulling out the bottle of root beer (and staring in awe at the two other bottles behind it in the fridge) and searched about for some matching cups.

"Perfectionist," Spot said lovingly.

"Damn straight."

"Your family has this _thing_ with dishes, huh?"

"I believe it's called obsessive compulsive disorder." Race finally found a dusty set of cups in the back of a cupboard, rinsed them off and set them out.

"So, you've cooked at Mush's?"

"Of course. I practically lived at Mush's for awhile, I did everything I could to make them like me."

"That's... kinda sad."

"Well, I didn't do a very good job anyway. What with the cocaine and all."

"Yeah?" Spot asked. "You were getting high at _Mush's_?"

"I was getting high anywhere that wasn't my house, unless I was desperate, in which case... You know, my house worked."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"You ever touch that shit again and I'll KILL you."

Race smiled at him. "You promise?"

"Sure fucking do."

"Good."

Race kissed him quickly, and when he pulled back jumped against when Denise appeared, out of nowhere, by the kitchen door.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "What the--"

"Front door, can't hear it from here." She smiled. "I sure am hungry. Eating now?"

"Look, I did something." Spot pointed at the peppers. "See those? I cut those."

"I won't eat them, then."

"Har dee har."

"Did you call your brother?" Spot was silent. "You sure didn't!" Spot shook his head. "Go, scat, me and Tony here will set everything up."

"Yeah." Tony said, his voice having more of a vibrato-tone than he'd care for. "Tell Davey I say hi."

"Will do."

Spot walked off to find a phone, and Denise picked up setting the table where Race had left off. "Oooh, matching glasses. _Fancy_," she noted.

"I... Guess."

She shrugged. "I didn't think I owned a whole set anymore. Jack broke a _lot_ of glasses when he was in his awkward phase, so I just started buying ugly plastic ones."

"Jack went through an awkward phase?" Race asked. "God, tell me you have _pictures_."

"He destroyed all of them. David has a few, though. I'm sure if you ask nicely, he'd be more than willing to humiliate his best friend for you."

Race laughed. "Jack and David are something else," he said vaguely, hoping she'd get the point.

"...Gay?" she suggested.

"Yeah, that's it."

"You know, they actually aren't." She paused. "I wondered for a long time but... Well, Jack _really_ likes girls."

"Yeah, I know. He tried to get his meat hooks into my sister," Race grumbled, pouring an equal amount of root beer into each glass.

"Ah yes, the beautiful one? Gabriel's girlfriend?"

Race stared blankly at her.

"You _do_ know she's dating Gabriel, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, I knew...I knew, I just didn't know you...met her."

"Of course!" She smiled. "She and Gabe stopped by the other day."

"Oh..."

"Temperamental girl."

Race beamed. "I'm the good one."

"I'll bet. Oh, don't set places, honey. Around here, we carry the plates about and eat dinner everywhere. And you two have a movie to watch, don't you?" She glanced at the clock. "You better get cracking. I have work to do anyway, I'll eat while I get it done."

"Sounds like a policy." Race gave her a plate. "Taste first, please, and tell me if it stinks."

Denise smirked, took a fork, and proceeded to sample some of her salmon. She wrinkled her nose and sneered at Race.

"Disgusting."

Race's face fell. She swallowed, and then burst out laughing. "Oh, honey, joking, I'm a smart ass, runs in the family. It's delicious." She gave his shoulder a pat. "Really."

Race started to breathe again. "Oh...okay, you really scared the hell out of me there."

"I like to do that." She grabbed her glass and took her plate, balancing them in different hands. "I'll see you around, all right, Tony? Talk to you before you leave. Oh," she glanced about, and lowered her voice as she looked at him. "Keep me posted on Jack and David. And don't bite my little boy."

Then she turned and left. Race had to smile.

Spot came back in the kitchen then, and grabbed a plate, smiling at the large portion. "You know, no matter how hard you try..."

"And if you love me you'll eat it _all,"_ Race simpered.

"I'd rather eat _you."_

"Spot!"

Spot smirked and they settled in on the living room couch for dinner, TV on in front of them. It was really pretty comfortable. Race, as usual, wolfed down his food; Spot ate a little of it and then picked at it for a few minutes.

"Don't you like it?"

"Don't_ pout,_ you know I like it. I'm just not hungry... Well... Maybe hungry for other things." Spot ran a hand down Race's side. "Since we're both finished eating..."

"Spot, come on," Race mumbled, feeling a little uncomfortable. "We can't... Not _here."_

"So let's, like, take it to the bathroom or something," Spot said. "'Cause my room would be bugged, right?"

"Yeah, but come on. Let's just watch the movie."

"I don't want to watch the movie, I want to screw."

"Spot..."

"_Tony_..." Spot mimicked. "Let's go." He took Race's wrist and stood, tugging, but Race yanked himself free and refused to budge.

"Spot, I don't... Want to."

There was a beat of silence, and Race highly doubted ever, ever seeing the type of expression on Spot's face he was seeing now. Or at least, he hoped not.

"_What_?" he asked, looking confused.

"I don't want to..." he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Looked down at the floor. He heard Spot sigh.

"Why, what's wrong?" he asked, sounded tired, kind of frustrated. Worried also.

"Nothing, just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing!"

"Well, obviously it's SOMETHING, Tony."

Spot sat back down on the couch, though, Race noted, out of convenient touching area. Race groaned. "We're moving too fast. I'm JUST getting used to being gay, and--"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit."

"It's true! It's not like I can just change my whole outlook on life overnight!"

"That's not what you said when we got together, or when _you_ kissed _me_. Or when you said you loved me."

Race fell silent, feeling kind of guilty. Because he knew what Spot was implying, and remembered what Spot had said, about Jack thinking he was only using Spot...

He wasn't. He loved Spot. He really did.

And the blowjob had felt fucking amazing.

But the thought of going any further didn't feel so amazing. The thought of going down on Spot didn't feel so amazing, and he didn't want Spot to do it for him if he wasn't willing to return the favor. It wasn't fair.

"Sean..." he mumbled. "I do love you. I love you so fucking much."

"Then what? You aren't _attracted_ to me?"

"No!" Race insisted. "No no, god, you're...you..." He let his eyes trail up Spot's thin body, taking in every inch, every shape, every curve. Eyed his thin neck, his perfect, improbably pretty face. "No. I'm so attracted to you, I am."

Spot bit the side of his cheek, biting back some sort of snappish remark, Race was sure. There was a moment of silence, Spot staring into him, when finally Spot said, "You aren't making any sense. What the hell do you want?"

"I don't know, I just know that if I want to go any further, I don't want to be uncomfortable."

That had been the wrong thing to say.

"Un_comfortable_?" Spot snarled, leaning towards Race. "What the fuck does THAT mean? You sure have a HELL of a way to show you're UNCOMFORTABLE."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Race half-snapped. He didn't want to snap at Spot, but on the other hand, Spot was making this really _hard_. "I love you, you're hot, I'm just not _ready_ yet."

"You sure were ready this afternoon."

"God damn it! If I'd known you'd start acting like _this_--"

"Acting like what? You're the one being a fucking girl about it, Antonia. Christ, it's not like it's a big deal."

"Don't you get it? It is a big deal. It's a huge deal because it's not just be saying that I'm gay, which is, you know, a BIG DEAL itself, but it's also me saying a big ol' 'fuck you!' to everything I've EVER believed. Okay? I spent my whole life thinking one man, one woman, missionary position for procreation after marriage only, and then you come along and suddenly I'm _gay_, and I love you, but it's still a big fucking deal!"

Spot stared at him for a second. Race wondered if maybe that had been a little overboard.

A second later, Spot had shoved him hard on the shoulder, and stalked out of the room.

"Spot, come ON--"

"Leave me ALONE, _Mario_!"

Race sat there, stunned, and then angry. This wasn't HIS fault, he couldn't control how he felt, and at least he was being honest! What the hell was he supposed to do? On that thought, he stood up, followed Spot out of the room. Saw Spot storming down his hallway, towards a bedroom.

"Spot!" Race snapped. "What did you want me to do? LIE so you could get off anyway?"

"I _said_ leave me the fuck alone."

"Why are you being such a DICK about this?"

"Why are you being so fucking FRIGID?"

"I TOLD you!"

Spot whirled around, turned on him. "You coulda told me earlier, Midgito."

"I was confused, earlier," Race retorted. "You can't expect me to know everything."

"Ohh believe me, I never expected THAT."

"Yeah, well, I never expected you to be such a dickhead about it."

"Bad call on your part."

"Right, 'cause this fight is _totally_ my fault." Race rolled his eyes.

"Well, it sure as hell ain't mine. I'm not the one being frigid."

"'Cause you know, calling me frigid is really gonna help you nail me. Which," he snorted disdainfully, "it turns out is all you wanted anyway. So fuck _you_."

"If only you _would_," Spot shot back.

And Race was a little surprised Spot didn't deny the accusation that all he wanted was sex.

A little surprised, and a _lot_ pissed off.

"If that's all you care about, you can go fuck your_self_ for all I care!"

"I can't fuck myself any worse than your _Family_ did to me."

"You dickhead," Race snarled. "This is between you and me, don't bring my family into this."

"Hard not to when they could be fucking listening in on it!"

"I don't like it any more than you do, but that's not what this is about!"

"You're right, this is about you being a goddamn lying spoiled bitch, just like everyone said you were."

"No, this is about you being a demanding, needy _asshole_ who wants the world to think he's some kind of tough guy when you're nothing but a pussy and you think sex is gonna fix that."

Race had expected that one to hit home a little more, for Spot to show some weakness and back down. So they could get over this and Spot would apologize, since this was _clearly_ his fault.

He didn't know Spot's bad side well enough to know that Spot did not apologize and he sure as hell didn't back down.

"I'M nothing but a pussy, Tony?" Spot said, his voice a bit dangerous, furious. "I'm the fucked up one? Yeah, fuck, fine, so sex is gonna fix my shit? Well you're a cocaine addict and nothing is gonna fucking fix that, so stop acting like you're some genius on what should and shouldn't be done, you fucking coke head!"

"Shut UP!" Race yelled.

"And DON'T you fucking think that sex was gonna fix my problems 'cause I sure as hell never thought you were gonna solve anything for me!"

"At least I _wanted_ to help solve everything that's fucking wrong with you! All you ever wanted from me was to get laid." He shook his head. "And I actually believed that you gave a shit about me. You're right, I _am_ a fucking moron."

"I never called you a fucking moron, but since you mention it, yeah, you are." Spot glared at him. "So you wanna get the fuck out of my house?"

"You want me to?" Race demanded, not wanting to go and leave it like this, desperately wanting Spot to back down so he wouldn't have to.

Spot brought his face close to Race's, his glare unfazed. "Did I _stutter_?"

Race jolted back, feeling sick to his stomach. He stared hard at Spot, and finally spat out "Fuck YOU!" before turning on his heel and storming down the hall, towards the door. He deliberately paused once touching the doorknob, wanting Spot to come after him, maybe snap at him to apologize himself, let them sort it out.

Once again, he underestimated a furious, hurt Spot.

"_BYE_!" Race yelled childishly, before pushing through the door and down the side walk, stomping.

Back inside, Spot kicked the wall viciously and wondered what the hell he'd just been yelling.

He walked over to his window and saw Race walking towards the bus stop, cell phone in his hand, looking like he wanted to kill someone. Which, Spot realized, he probably did.

"Oh god fucking _damn_ him," Spot snapped at the open air and turned on his heal to start down the hall, not thinking about what he was doing, because if he thought about it, his pride was going to stop him. Because Spot Conlon did _not_ apologize to people.

"Hey, asshole!" he yelled after Race, who froze, tensed up, but didn't turn around. Spot sped up to catch up with him. "Hey," he repeated, as he caught up and Race began to walk again, still towards the bus stop, but he flipped his cell phone shut.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Damn it, Tony, you fucking know what I--"

"Yes. I do know what you want, get the fuck off me, faggot." He shoved Spot slightly, and it was all Spot could do to not shove him back. But he'd come this far, and he'd regret it MORE if it was for nothing.

"I'm..." he choked a little, like he was about to hurl or something. "I..." then he dropped his voice. "I didn't fucking want you for sex, you idiot." Race didn't say anything, still looked furious. "Maybe at the beginning, but if it had stayed that way then I would have fucked off and forgotten about you a long time ago. But if you don't fucking want it then stop being such a tease."

Race snorted, and shook his head. "That's not--"

"I'm not gonna say 'sorry', Antonia."

Which, somehow, was Spot's way of saying 'but I _am_ sorry, I'm just not gonna say it'.

Race was silent for a long time, and Spot realized he was silently debating telling Spot to fuck off and accepting the... apology. If it could be called that.

"Listen, Sean..." Race said in a tired voice. "You're really, really fucking MEAN once you get going."

There was a beat of silence before Spot said, "PLEASE don't fucking tell me you JUST figured that out."

And Race had to laugh at that, and then Spot kind of smirked. "Sean, I'm really pissed."

"So am I."

"But you're sorry so I--"

"Never said I was sorry."

"--think we're just fine." He looked up at his boyfriend. "It's not you. I just want to take it slow, okay? And if you take it all personal, aren't YOU being the girl?"

Spot raised his eyebrows.

Race shut up. But Spot didn't shout.

What Spot did finally say was, "Now I know how Tracy felt."

"Oh, fuck off." Race rolled his eyes. "I just... I just need time. And as soon as the thought of screwing around some doesn't send me into a Catholic guilt panic, I'll make it up to you."

"Yeah, I'm fucking holding you to that."

"I figured."

There was a long quiet, and finally Spot said, "Movie?"

"Yeah, okay."

And it was awkward, but not too bad. Nothing they couldn't get through...

Hopefully.

There was about a meter of distance between them and Spot was very good at avoiding eye contact.

Race, half of him wanting to kiss and make up and the other half wanting to yell, was having a difficult time deciding on what exactly he was supposed to do now.

Spot wasn't talking, the movie wasn't making any sense, and his stomach hurt. He felt like he'd eaten too much, but knew that wasn't true.

He glanced over at his boyfriend... Whose arms were crossed.

Race grumbled something under his breath.

Spot shot him a glare--he hadn't meant it to be so mean, really--and then stared pointedly at the TV. Race made an exasperated noise and the next time Spot glanced at him, he was staring blankly at the TV, looking none too happy.

Spot cleared his throat. "I'm gonna eat more." He hoped eating would make his stomach stop bothering him.

Race raised an eyebrow. "No fucking way." But it sounded kind of forced.

"Yeah, well... It's good." And Spot stood up and walked into the kitchen. Race didn't follow. Race didn't respond to the semi-compliment. Spot stabbed at the fish viciously as he transferred it to a plate, and stalked back into the living room.

But Race sort of smiled as he took a mouthful.

Spot's stomach didn't want anymore. He felt full, real full. But it was better than having Racetrack sit there and silently gripe at him. Which was a stupid, girly thing to do, Spot thought. So he might as well have some food to shut him up.

Well, that and it made Race happy. He didn't mind that at all. Liked it quite a bit in fact.

Just right now, it seemed unfair to him that HE didn't get a blow job or an ANYTHING.

He swallowed words by eating the fish, which did taste good. Race looked at him. "You like it?"

Spot shrugged. "No complaints."

"...I like that shirt...looks good."

"Yeah, I'm hot. Which you wouldn't--" he stopped, and rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

"No, _what_?" Race demanded.

"_Nothing_, Mario."

Race glowered at him. Spot glowered right back. He'd cut off the comment, he was eating, Race should have been _happy_. And yet, he wasn't at all. Which, Spot hated to admit, made _him_ kind of unhappy.

He set his plate on the coffee table and went back to watching the TV. But kind of subtly inched along the couch, closer to Race.

Race shot him a look, and didn't say anything. Bit his lip. Spot waited, and finally Race shrugged, and slid down the couch to Spot. Next to him, but not making more contact than he had to.

Awkward.

_Very_ awkward.

Race shifted at one point, because part of his leg was asleep, and when their thighs touched, both jumped. Spot shot him a glare.

"What?" Race asked, defensively.

Spot sneered and said nothing.

Race got inwardly pissed off because the sneer was kind of hot.

Neither one of them said anything, and they sat in awkward silence, the movie playing away pointlessly.

It went like this for a good twenty minutes until Race's cell phone rang, causing them both to jump, accidentally touch thighs, exchange awkward glances, etc. etc before Race answered.

"_Ciao_," he said in a strangled voice.

"Hey, stupid!"

"..._Hey_ fatty."

Sophia snorted in a very non-dainty manner on the other end. "Come home, moron."

"What?"

"Come _home_."

"Why? I told Dad I'd be late-ish, he--"

"Because we're having a family _moment_ here."

"...um..."

"No, serious. I made Gabe come in to meet... Well, re-meet Mom and Dad, and, like, Dad spent twenty minutes making him squirm--"

"Good."

"--and then Mom went crazy and... Mom. Serious, he's just sitting kind of stunned in the rec room, and she keeps making him eat more cake."

"Um..."

"He needs backup. Come _on_," she whined.

"Rosetta, I'm kinda in the middle of--"

"Oh come _on_, come home early and get bonus points with Dad. What are you and Sean doing, anyway? Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

Race paused. It wasn't that he wanted to go home--though watching his parents torture Itey would be kind of fun--but he didn't want to leave while he and Spot were... doing whatever they were doing. He wanted it to be okay.

On the other hand, it would probably take a long time to be okay. And he kind of wanted to just get _out_ of it all.

"Yeah, all right."

"_Thank you_," she said in a relieved voice.

"Don't thank me, I'm on mom and dad's side."

"TONY."

"Tell Itey that if he pulls anything while I'm not there, I'll break his thumbs." He grinned. "Bye!"

"Fuc-" but he cut her off as he shut off the phone.

He turned to Spot. Spot was watching him. "...gotta go."

Spot didn't even blink. "'K."

"So uh..." Race stood up, successfully avoiding contact. "I like your house."

"'K."

"And your mom."

"Not my mom--"

"Denise, I like Denise."

No response. They stared at each other. Finally, Spot just said, "'Kay."

"Uh... So... G'night." Race stood, and so did Spot, and they walked to the door. Race hesitated, then turned to Spot and pressed onto his tiptoes for a second, for a quick kiss, but Spot pulled away totally. Race fell back on to the flat of his feet and glared.

"Come on, Tony, don't you think a kiss would be moving awfully _fast?"_ Spot said, smirking.

"You're such a bitch." Race glowered, but at least Spot had decided to talk to him. Even if he was being sarcastic and bitchy. Race could handle sarcastic and bitchy; he preferred it to silent any day.

Spot raised an eyebrow.

"Well... _Bye,"_ Race said childishly and opened the door, started to walk out. But Spot grabbed his arm, pulled him back around. "What?" Race demanded.

"I love you."

Race gaped. Then beamed. Then said, "I love you too. _Ciao, caro mio."_

"Oh, don't get me turned on as you're leaving—"

"GoodBYE, Spot." But Race kind of laughed as he said it, then walked out to his car.

*

Race, feeling considerably better as he dropped his keys in his pocket, could finally laugh for the first time in the past two hours when Maria swung open the door before he had a chance to open it and said, "Gabe is gonna wet himself, Tony, it's hilarious."

"Dad has that affect on people."

"Only because he loves us."

"I don't wet myself because he loves me." But Race followed her inside, and she led him into the kitchen, bouncing, giggling. Race's mind, until that moment, had kind of been somewhere else, with Spot, and thus the sight was a bit more surprising then it normally would have been.

Although it was pretty funny, still.

Itey was standing on a coffee table in the living room, arms out at his sides, while Race's mother scurried around behind him with a measuring tape. Sophia was sitting on the couch in front of them, giggling, and Race's father lurked ominously in the background, probably waiting for Itey to say or do something wrong so he could descend like a vulture on road kill. And probably make Itey _into_ road kill.

Itey looked so confused and vaguely scared that Race had to laugh.

"Are we crucifying Gabriel?" he asked, noting Itey's arms-out position.

"Tony..." his father said warningly.

Sophia snickered, and Mrs. Higgins announced, "I'm taking his measurements, I'm going to make Gabriel a sweater."

Race's eyes almost popped out of his head and he choked slightly, laughing. "Gabe gets a Higgins sweater?"

"Welcome to the family!" Mrs. Higgins smiled sweetly and swatted Itey on the arm. Itey smiled in return, but then caught Mr. Higgins glare and eeped.

"This means, of course, that you will remain FAITHFUL TO MY DAUGHTER--"

"_Dad_dy!"

"Are you sure, Gabe?" Race asked Itey. "I mean..." he wrinkled his nose and looked at his sister. "LOOK at her."

"Oh shut up, loser," she snapped.

"Brat."

"Moron."

"Fatty."

"You're not a brat, and you're not fat," Itey piped in quickly.

Sophia gave him an amused look, which clearly said, 'I _know_, dear,' but then stuck her tongue out at Racetrack instead.

"What colors does he get?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm thinking maybe something in browns or reds... Don't you think red would look lovely on him, Sophia, darling? It would bring out his skin tone so _nicely_."

Racetrack had a sweater his mother had made him the previous year. It was ribbed and itchy and deep blue. Sophia's was a striking purple, and less ugly; Izzy got green and Maria had pink. Even Mr. Higgins had one--in black--but he never had been sighted wearing it.

Mrs. Higgins liked to knit for the people she loved the most.

Race's cell phone rang and he reached into his pocket to answer. The display was Sean and Jack's house. "...Hey?"

"Guessss what I'm doing right now?"

It was Spot's voice. He sounded amused, which came as a relief to Race, who started out of the room, shut the door behind him.

"What?"

"Wrapping my hand around my--"

"Spot!"

"What?"

"Would you stop being so _gross_?"

"I'm not gross, I'm hot."

"AUGH. Listen, I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"..."

"No I will, I..."

"Yeah yeah. Just letting you know."

"What?"

"No hard feelings....well, I'M hard, but--"

"I GOT IT." Race had to smile though. "Yeah. Me too. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He left a significant silence. That said what he felt. "Bye."

"Yeah...bye Tony."

He flipped the phone shut and started into the other room, where Itey was still standing on the table, but now Maria was poking him with the measuring tape instead, while Mrs. Higgins began to jot down notes on a pad of paper.

Mr. Higgins gave Racetrack a significant look. Probably wondered who had called him and why. Race just shrugged easily, like it was nothing. Like it hadn't been a call from his boyfriend an hour after their first fight.

As Mrs. Higgins began to talk giddily about the sweater she wanted to knit, and Itey was finally allowed off of the table, Race couldn't help but feel a little bit mellow. Depressed, almost.

He loved Spot, but could never tell his family that. Could never bring Spot home, have him accepted and tortured lovingly by his folks.

Spot would never get his own Higgins Family Sweater.

Race realized that he wasn't angry, anymore. At all.

*

F: I may have fucked up considerably...regarding this chapter. By all rights I should have been hung.

B: You have no idea. But luckily I love her... what's having to rewrite three pages lost in the shuffle, after all? But then, we rewrote a good third of this chapter because we could. That was fun.

F: Then I started loading boy problems on her and she suggested ANs. I love talking about myself see?

B: Well, I only changed the subject because it's quarter after 5 in the morning and my parents will be up in 20 minutes... So, that said, we're cutting the ANs short. Ta ta!

(This chapter celebrated with alcohol and birthday cake, because dude, B just turned 21.)


	18. Boys' Night

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

Well some people try to pick up girls  
They get called assholes  
This never happened to Pablo Picasso  
Girls would turn the color of a juicy avocado  
When he would drive down their street in his El Dorado  
He could walk down the street  
Girls could not resist his stare  
So Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole,  
Not like you!  
-David Bowie, _Pablo Picasso_

**_Chapter 18: Boys' Night_**

Racetrack was once again faced with the eternal question: was showing off worth looking like a complete jackass? He ran his hand over the steering wheel of his new car, a silver Lexus convertible, and sighed happily. It was gorgeous, insanely so, and... Well, extravagant, he realized. It was expensive even by the standards set at his school, and while his family could afford it--it wasn't _entirely_ covered by the insurance money, but not far off--it was a bit much.

As close as he could figure, his father felt so guilty about the kidnapping that this was bribery. His relapse was all but forgotten, and his father was being... Nice was too extreme of a word, but in his own, incredibly messed up way, that's what it was. No lectures where there usually would have been, he was officially ungrounded, and the _car_...

He turned the key in the ignition and grinned.

He was a spoiled rich kid, and he'd look like a total jackass, but there was no way he was _not_ showing off his new toy.

As he drove down the highway, despite his now almost-firm stand in homosexuality, he couldn't help but grin nonchalantly at a pair of girls in an old mustang next to him. The grin set off some extremely hot tongue gestures, and by the time Race was getting pretty close to Blink's garage, he was feeling pretty damn hot. Like, more than usual.

He heard the sound of drums, and with horror, realized that Mush was probably clowning around on his set to bug him. Mush did that sometimes.

So, Race turned on the stereo to a very cool, subtle setting, and fixed his hair in the rear view mirror.

When he pulled up in front of Blink's house, the first thing he heard was Spot.

"Jesus FUCKING Christ!"

Why wasn't he surprised?

He just waited while people appeared at the garage door, and jaws dropped. Finally, he took the key out of the ignition and grinned.

"Oh my GOD, Tony. That's..." Itey shook his head. "I don't even know. That's just beyond words."

Jack glanced over, rolled his eyes, and walked back into the garage. Which didn't bother Race at all, because Jack hating his car was almost as satisfying as Spot loving it, which he clearly did because he walked over and ran his hand over the hood slowly, like he didn't believe it.

"That car costs more than my _house_," Dutchy noted.

"Your dad must have lost his mind. That's a bit much, even for _your_ family," David said flatly, and Race actually felt a little guilty about that, because it was true. But then David shrugged a little and smiled. "But then, it's not like your dad was sane to begin with. Nice car."

"Thanks, Davey." David's approval meant more to him than he'd realized.

"Don't cream yourself, Spot," Blink said while inspecting the license plate, which, as cliche as it sounded, actually read 'Race'.

"I already did," Spot replied distractedly. "Twice." He looked up at Race. "Ride me somewhere. I mean, drive me." He grinned at their friends, who were all making disgusted faces. "My mistake."

Race glared at him again, obviously still cautious. And for good reason. "Maybe later, I have practice now."

"Give me the keys."

"No."

"Yes."

"Fuck off!"

"I won't crash it!"

Blink snorted. Spot punched his shoulder.

"Seriously, I trust you, but the insurance on this thing is insane and I actually think if anything happened my dad would be more upset about that than he was about the cocaine."

Dutchy just shook his head. "You are so fucking driving us... somewhere... after rehearsal. Don't care where. We are all being seen in public in that car."

"The baseball team has a practice this afternoon. Wanna go make the jocks jealous?" Blink suggested.

"And you wonder why you get beat up," Dutchy answered.

"I definitely don't wonder," Blink responded, as Mush put a protective arm around his shoulder.

"Are you still having trouble with...?" He trailed off, and Blink shrugged.

"Not really. Spot's an easier target than I am, anyway."

"Fucking am _not_. You punch like a girl. I don't."

"But you're _tiny_."

"And yet I'd still beat your ass in a fight."

Blink shoved him a little, and Spot shoved back, and Mush forcibly stepped between them, rolling his eyes. "Now now, kids..." he sighed, then added, "It _is_ a sweet car, Tony."

Race shrugged a little, fake modesty, and finally swung the door open and stepped out. "So, we should rehearse, because we aren't all that far from our audition," he noted. "And I _really_ want that gig."

"You think I don't?" Blink replied. "Guess what I learned to do! Guess guess."

"Don't guess..." Spot said, looking a little disgusted. "Please make him stop talking about it..."

Mush pinched him. Spot, who did not like to be pinched, started plotting various ways to hurt Mush.

"Guess, guess what I learned to do," Blink said as they all walked back into the garage (where Jack was drinking his Kokanee a little too quickly, so David rolled his eyes and sat next to him on the couch).

"What did you learn to do?" Race asked, in a sarcastic tone that Blink ignored or didn't notice.

"I learned how to Ozzy scream."

Race stared. "We don't play Ozzy. We play like--"

"No no, serious," Dutchy broke in. "It's awesome. Mush had four orgasms, I swear."

"No, that was last night," Blink answered cheerfully.

"Blink!" Mush yelped, ducking his head so people couldn't see how hard he was blushing. Or at least, that was his goal, but he was blushing hard enough that it failed miserably.

"Right, so we've got a lot of stuff to go through today," Blink said, and kissed Mush quickly. Mush sat on the couch and Spot leaned against the wall and it was time to rehearse, which meant Blink was doing his usual job of making people actually concentrate. "We've got to get Itey's song practiced because it's our only ballad, and we should have at least one, and Dutchy's got his rehab sucks song, and we were talking about working on a cover, so..."

Race sighed slightly, because mainly, when Blink was like this, no one listened. Except for Mush and Itey. So Dutchy and Race just got the information from Itey since Mush was more staring than listening, really...

Race's eyes wandered and he saw that Spot was making faces behind Blink's back. Good ones. Oddly hilarious ones. Race bit his lip, and he saw Dutchy and Jack snort.

"So what do we want to cover, then?" Itey asked.

"Billy Idol."

They all turned to stare at David.

"What? _What_, I'm not allowed to appreciate Billy Idol?"

"You're really not," Race agreed, and David rolled his eyes and grabbed the same copy of Rolling Stone that had been sitting around for the past week to flip through yet again.

"...But we could do a pretty kickass Rebel Yell," Blink mused.

"Do you know the words?"

"There are words?" he asked. "I know the chorus."

"Great, fabulous. So what can we cover that we actually _know_?" Dutchy asked. "Come on. Aerosmith, Beatles, Sloan, Stones, something."

"Oh oh!" Blink explained. "Queen. So totally perfect for us, 'cause I'm not fucking Freddy Mercury, but we are _so_ gay as a group..."

"_I'm_ not," Itey sulked.

"Yeah, but you're the only one."

"Hey, I like girls," Dutchy added.

"But you like boys more. And anyway, like... The song My Best Friend? We could so fucking _rock_ that. Or Bicycle Race or--"

"Okay, someone was listening to Queen's Greatest Hits last night," Race interrupted.

"Yeah, but--oh! Body Language. The sex song. Fucking _fabulous_, we could _so_--"

"Blink. Pick a song and stick with it, Jesus. I'm all for Queen, but you need a tranquilizer or something," Dutchy broke in.

"Hey uh..." Itey coughed. "No offense to Queen or anything, but they're pretty guitar and singer oriented... Tony and I would be bored."

"Fine," Blink snapped. He looked kind of irritated, but hadn't had his heart set on Queen, and really couldn't argue Itey's point. Fair was far. "What do YOU wanna cover?"

Itey suddenly looked very shy, because everyone was looking at him. "Uh... well, we could do some Blur--"

"You like Blur?!" Race exclaimed. "God, FUCK ME."

There was another silence after that.

"No, see, he saves that for your sister." Dutchy grinned. Race threw his drumstick at him.

"And Spot would probably kick my ass," Itey added, which Race wasn't sure how to react to at all. He made a kind of strangled face, and Spot started laughing, and Itey smiled a little. "But I was thinking, like... Beetlebum is... I don't know; it's got everything in it and it's easier to hit Damon Albarn's range than Freddy Mercury's and... Well, it's not like the guys in Blur are _straight_, if that was your whole thing."

"They're not gay, though."

"But they're awfully damn ambiguous," Dutchy agreed. "And hot, and British." He thought for a second. "Well, that works for me, so if you guys are okay with it..."

Race nodded, and finally got up to retrieve his drumstick, and Blink only pouted for a second before nodding his agreement. Because as lead singers went, he was definitely closer to Damon from Blur than to Freddy Mercury, and could pull it off much better.

"The only problem is that he mumbles so I don't exactly know the words," Blink said after a second.

"We'll check them online later."

Blink shrugged. "Sounds good, then." He paused. "Man, we are gonna kick _so much_ ass."

"I always kick ass." Race smirked, twirling his drumsticks. "Itey, baby, you and me? Totally hooking up for some Blur-age."

Itey grinned, still looking shy. "Sure, Tony."

Spot glared.

"Don't be a dumbass." Mush shoved him.

Spot licked his finger, and shoved it in Mush's ear. Mush yelped, and jumped off the couch. Spot smirked.

"ASS!" Mush shrieked.

"Don't pinch me."

"Would you all shut up?!" Blink snapped. Mush sent him a shocked look. "Except for you, baby."

Mush grinned at him and smirked at Spot, and sat back down, then as the attention shifted away from them nonchalantly reached over and shoved Spot, who went sprawling sideways and barely caught himself.

"Hey!" he yelped, and Mush grinned, and everyone was glaring again.

"Now kids, don't make me separate you," David said without looking up from the magazine, despite having read the article four times before.

Spot rolled his eyes, and Mush answered with a cheerful, "Yes, Davey," and Spot reached over and slapped the back of Mush's head.

"Sure, Dave," he agreed. "Now that we're even."

Mush shoved him again, but he was braced for it and shoved back and... Well, it wasn't as ineffective as other people had expected, given that Mush worked out on a regular basis and Spot could only be described as a lightweight, but Mush certainly didn't lose his balance.

He shoved back.

"Now we're even," he declared.

"O_kay_, you two..."

Spot smacked him again. "_Now_."

"O_KAY_, you two!" David said, tired of having Mush shoved into him. "Mush, you and Jack trade places."

"Davey, you should be worried; you actually sound exactly like your mother," Jack mused, as he stood up. David rolled his eyes, but went back to the magazine.

"Because Jack knows allll about how his mother in law sounds." Spot smiled. Mush let out a laugh, and they slapped hands as Mush walked by him to take Jack's old seat. Jack turned on his heel and smacked Mush on the head, which started a whole new slugging fest, which David tried to break up, and everyone felt sorry for him really...

Blink, having lost his steam, just turned to his band, shrugged, and they just started to play.

*

The practice had gone on for exactly an hour longer than intended, and David was rushing about finding out if everyone had rides, and who had to be where when, and finding out if they still had time to cruise around in Race's car. Jack tried to calm him down, but stopped when he realized just how much of a boyfriend he was actually acting like...

Jack declined the chance to go cruising in Race's car, which surprised exactly no one, and he dragged David with him. Itey gave the car a long, lingering look, but decided he wanted to go call Sophia instead. Which left Dutchy, Blink, Spot and Mush; Mush decided to go less because he was impressed by the car, and more because he never really objected to spending time with Blink.

"I _so_ get shotgun," Spot declared.

"But you're skinny," Mush whined. "So it would make sense for you and Dutchy to both be in the back so there's breathing room."

"Fuck _you_, it's Tony's car so I get shotgun by _default_." And Spot let himself into the seat in question without further discussion; Mush rolled his eyes, but on the other hand, having Blink sitting bitch in the middle meant that they were shoved pretty close to each other, which he also didn't mind.

"So where to?" Race asked, as seatbelts were buckled. (Blink was obsessive compulsive about seatbelt safety, which made sense, given how he'd lost his eye.)

"I'm still all for irritating the baseball team," Blink answered immediately.

"Blink..." Mush sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, oh," Dutchy said suddenly. "Spot, speaking of the jocks, rumor is that Jessica is _really_ pissed at Steve for something and she's breaking up with him this weekend."

"...Okay, how does the freaky drug addict get involved in the school gossip mills?" Spot demanded, ignoring the comment, despite the vaguely confused looks he was getting from Mush and Race (though Race was more watching the road, luckily.)

"I have my sources." Dutchy smirked. "So your girlfriend is _so_ single by Monday."

"She is _not_ my _girlfriend_."

"Okay, what?" Race demanded.

Spot sighed.

"What's this?" Dutchy sat up straight, sensing the scandal. Which he loved. "Did you neglect to tell Tony of your previous relations with Jessica?"

"I didn't--"

"No, who the fuck is Jessica?" Race asked, sounding a lot like a jealous idiot, which made him blush. Spot smirked at him.

"Look who's jealous."

"Shut up, who's Jessica?"

Spot shared a look with Blink, who looked torn between feeling sorry for Spot and blabbing. But he was saved, because Dutchy loved to blab.

"She and Spot fucked at my Valentine's party."

There was a very long silence. A calm before the storm, everyone realized.

"WHAT?"

"Eyes on the road, idiot!"

"Dude, I so told you," Spot answered. "About the girl I slept with to piss off her boyfriend."

"...You mean you were _serious_?"

"Yes, I was fucking serious. God." He shuddered. "She's totally stalked me since then, I swear she's as bad as Tracy Marshall."

"_No one_ is as bad as Tracy. Back me up, Mushee."

"No one," Mush agreed.

"And Jessica is BEAUTIFUL," Dutchy pointed out. "You should consider yourself lucky, Spot. I would."

"You can _have_ her."

"You joking? She wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole; I'm the local screwed up drug addict manslut, so I'm not just on coke, I'm also probably diseased." He laughed. "I'm so not, but the school seems to think I am, and goddamn, I need to get laid."

"That's lovely, Dutchy," Mush noted.

"I so do, though, I'm going _insane_."

"So jerk off."

Dutchy opened his mouth to answer, but Race anticipated it and snarled, "NOT in my CAR."

Dutchy shrugged. "So anyway, she so totally wants Spot, it's not even funny. The whole 'he's gay' thing never registered or something."

"But..." Race observed his boyfriend. "You're just so GAY."

"Yeah, well, I fucked her, so..." Spot shrugged. "She seems to think I'll start taking some straight pills or something."

"She sounds stupid," Race muttered.

"She's not, actually, just--"

"Are you _defending_ her?"

"Are you _whining_ much?"

"Awwww..." Mush wiped away a mock tear. "They're _fighting_. Look baby, they're fighting!" Mush put his hand on Blink's knee. Blink just gave his neck a kiss as a response.

"Anyway," Dutchy continued. "She was telling all her friends about you, Spotty. How she wuuuvs you."

Spot sneered. "You sound like a fucking woman, HANS."

Dutchy stopped smiling.

"Ouch, that's fighting _dirty_," Blink said. "Spot's looking to get his ass kicked."

"Like he _could_," Spot snorted disdainfully.

"Yeah; you talk a good deal, _Sean_, but all I've ever seen in Steve Olsen kicking _your_ ass around."

"Yeah," Spot agreed. "Because if I fucking break his skull in, the state puts me in an institution."

"Uh huh."

Spot half-turned around in his seat. "That sounds like a challenge there, blondie."

"Bring it, shrimp."

"No blood on the new car, please," Race requested, sounding more amused than worried.

"...Besides, Dutch," Mush reasoned. "Spot's got Tony on his side; and Tony _does_ break noses in fights. He's kind of scary when he gets going."

"Yeah?" Dutchy asked, and everyone was pretty grateful that Mush had managed to get the attention away from Spot's and Dutchy's sudden bickering. Everyone except Race, who really didn't feel like discussing the fight Mush was referring to.

"Seriously, it was insane, 'cause the guy--Scott--was a foot taller than he was, easy, but--"

"_Mush_," Race interrupted.

Mush shrugged and fell silent, until Blink poked him in the side. "You can't stop there, what happened?" he demanded.

"Well." Mush shrugged, and Race rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't a big deal," Race mumbled, and turned the radio on loudly to try and halt conversation.

Spot turned it down immediately. "So? Then it's no big deal to spill it. So, spill it. Besides, Mush will tell Blink later anyway, and Blink'll tell me in study hall anyway."

"Someone has to tell _me_," Dutchy whined.

"Only if you stop being a bitch," Spot answered smugly.

"'Only if you stop being a bitch'," Dutchy mimicked, and Spot reached back to smack him, but Mush pushed his arm away. "Telllll ussss."

Race didn't say anything, so Mush just shrugged. "Scott called me a faggot, see? He'd been calling me a faggot all year, but one day after school, I was on my own carrying stuff out to Tony's car while he was inside, and Scott just started screaming at me from his car in the parking lot. And then Tony came out, my big hero--" he glanced at Race. "Er...little hero..."

"Shut up!"

"And he was all like, 'You seem pretty brave in your car, pussy!' and Scott was all like, 'Fuck you, Al Pacino!' and then Tony was all like--"

"It's like watching a kid talk about Barney..." Spot mused. Race pinched his thigh.

"Yeah, ANYWAY. Basically, Scott swung at Tony, who proceeded to beat the living shit out of him, breaking his nose in the process." He grinned. "My _hero_," he added.

"Awwwww," Blink and Dutchy cooed on cue, and Race just stared at the road ahead of him.

"It really was pretty nice of him; he definitely won the fight but it wasn't like he got away totally untouched. But still, a black eye and some blood stains really isn't much, comparatively."

"Most of the blood was his," Race mumbled.

"Awwwww," Dutchy repeated. "You beat someone up for being mean to Mush. You're like the bestest big brother _ever_."

"Oh, God," Mush laughed. "I don't even want to think about what would happen if someone insulted one of his _sisters_..."

"Can we change the topic now?" Race muttered.

"Nope." Blink smiled. "That was real nice of you; you got suspended or what?"

"Only for a few days, the fuckhead had it coming and _everyone_ knew it," Race answered flatly.

And Mush said quietly, "The problem was his dad. Who didn't like that he was fighting."

"Mush, _drop it_," Race said, in a voice which really didn't leave room for argument.

"What?" Spot demanded anyway.

"Nothing, okay? _Nothing_. Just more of me and my dad hating each other. So where are we going, anyway?"

"No, come on, what did--" Spot started, but Dutchy broke in.

"He said drop it, Spot, leave him alone."

Spot flipped Dutchy off.

"Thanks Dutch," Race said, and then Spot stared at _him_ and flipped _him_ off.

"Let's go drinking," Blink said. "If Dutchy and Spot are gonna--"

"Go drinking?" Race said, sarcasm dripping. "What a GREAT way to lose my orgasm-worthy car! Let's do it!"

"A 'no' would have been fine, Al Pacino." Blink grumbled.

"Let's just go cruisin'." Mush said, always the peacemaker. "And honk at hot guys."

"How about no?" Race replied. "Mushee, I love you, but I'm new to this gay thing."

Spot wasn't listening; he was making obscene tongue gestures at a group of pretty freshmen boys. Race stared at him.

"What?"

"Whore!"

"I know."

"You should pick; you can either be confused about being gay, _or_ you can be a jealous boyfriend. Seriously, for all of our sanity's sake. One or the other," Dutchy muttered. He ignored the sympathetic look Mush gave him, because he didn't need to bond with Mush over how pathetic having a crush on Racetrack was; he'd figured it out all by himself. And he wasn't sure if Itey had shared that information, or if he was being obvious; he hoped it was the first, so he could blame Itey and Race wouldn't know.

But then, judging by Mush's experience, Race wouldn't know anyway. He wondered what it was like to be that oblivious. He also wondered what Race was like in bed, but he was trying to avoid thinking about it.

"Oh!" Blink yelped suddenly, staring at a car almost a block up from them. "I swear to god, we're about to run into Steve Olsen."

"Seriously. You've only got one eye, _how_ is your vision so--"

"You have to say something to him, Spot," Blink interrupted. "I will give you _money_ if you remind him that Jessica wants you more than him."

"No," Spot said, shrugging, fiddling with the frays on his jeans.

"Ten bucks."

"Where is he?" Race laughed as Spot searched outside the window.

"Slow down, _Midgito_, he's over there..." Spot grinned back at Blink. "Show me the ten."

Blink fished around in his pocket, producing two five dollar bills.

"Awesome." Spot nodded, and cleared his throat, hanging out the window. "HEY! OLSEN!" Steve Olsen glanced up, and Race was suddenly slightly in awe with just how hot the guy actually was; Spot had had a point. "Slow down, Tony," Spot mumbled to him. Race slowed down as they drove next to Steve.

"What do you want, faggot?" Steve snapped.

"Funny you should mention faggot..." Spot nodded. "Since I'M the most man Jessica ever had anyway. No worries though, while she's busy frigging herself and yelling my name, I heard your mom is available. I just left her at your place, so she's all naked and ready to go."

Race stared in awe at Spot and Blink burst out laughing as Steve reached forward and tried to grab at Spot.

"You FUCKING--"

But Race stepped on the gas and they drove off down the street.

"That was worth at least fifteen dollars," Mush said, putting a five in with Blink's ten as they passed the money forward. Dutchy was laughing too hard to speak, but eventually inhaled sharply.

"Oh my GOD he is gonna kick your ass AGAIN on Monday."

"Let him try it." Spot was smirking, so if he was nervous about facing Steve again, it was impossible to tell.

"Spot, man, you're my fucking _hero_," Blink cackled. "Okay, let's go get pizza and hide, because the asshole is trying to catch up with us."

"Ha," Race answered. "Let him _try_." And he abruptly turned the next corner, and a few minutes later they were on the highway and lost in the traffic; easily the nicest car in sight, but not really noticeable from a distance. "You guys want pizza? I can cook, restaurants are too greasy."

"Seriously, eating at your house is like eating at a gourmet place," Mush noted. "But cheaper. So I vote for that."

"Yeah, you gonna cook some more?" Spot grinned. "Is it gonna have the same result as last time?"

Race raised his eyebrows at him. "There are people in the car with us, you know."

"YEAH, Spot!"

Mush and Blink gave monotone looks to Dutchy, who cleared his throat and busied himself looking out the window.

"Anyway..." Race lowered his voice. "Cut it out, I'm not ready to go any farther than we already have."

Spot let out an annoyed snort as he thumped his head against the back of his seat. "You're in such a bitchy mood."

"Then go screw Jessica."

"Ooooohh..." Blink whistled.

"Seriously, Spot. My house means my family which means that as soon as we get there, I'm straight as far as anyone knows. So watch it."

"Bitch," Spot muttered.

"My parents should be out, though, thank God," Race continued, ignoring Spot because it seemed like the best response. "And I think Maria is spending the night at a friend's, so it's just Sophia."

"Itey's gonna be jealous," Dutchy noted.

"Actually," Blink commented, as they turned on to Race's road, "I think Itey'll be _annoyed_, 'cause isn't that his car?" He pointed in the direction of Race's house.

"Yeah, I think," Dutchy agreed. "Ooooh, and they're home _alone_."

"I'll kill him," was Race's only answer.

Mush started to respond, but Race parked and got out of the car with amazing agility, and was way ahead of them as he made his way to the front door while Mush and the others were stumbling up the steps, all thinking of separate ways they could try and save Itey.

"Who knew the little Mexican had it in him?" Dutchy mused to Spot. "Did you know he's only kissed someone, like, once?"

"Was that when YOU kissed him in a sexually frustrated rage?" Spot said blankly.

"That never happened, you grumpy old fag." Dutchy smacked his head.

Race was opening the door and shushing them. "Quiet, I need to see if he's trying to take advantage of my sister."

Spot coughed. "Knowing Sophie, it seems more like _she'd_ take advantage of _him_..." Race gave Spot a glare. Spot just shrugged.

Race made his way inside, motioning at all of them to be quiet, and he listened very quietly.

"This is ridiculous..." Blink whispered to Mush.

"Get used to it," was Mush's response.

Sure enough, there were voices in the kitchen. It sounded like Sophia and Itey were laughing, and from the evil look on Race's face, they all hoped Itey would enjoy it while he could. But they took the laughing as a good sign--better to be joking around than fooling around.

Race walked quietly towards the kitchen, and Dutchy, Mush and Blink all shrugged and followed. Spot, who seemed to be growing grumpier, followed in a fashion very much like a four year old.

Race slowly opened the kitchen door, and saw that there wasn't anything indecent going on--just Itey with his arms slightly around Sophia's waist, and her arms around his neck, and it seemed she had something in the oven. Really, it was all very innocent, but he still had his arms around her. He was still smiling at her much too fondly.

"A-HEM."

Itey jumped and immediately let go of Sophia before even LOOKING to see who it was that had caught them. When he saw it was Race, he made a very odd squeaky noise.

"TONY." Sophia glared.

"How many times have you come to molest my sister when no one else was home?" Race ignored Sophia and just cut right to the chase. Itey coughed.

"Tony, I promise, we weren't doing anything."

"And if we HAD been, we wouldn't be in the _kitchen_." Sophia threw a cracker at Race and then popped another one in her mouth. "Idiot."

"BUT we don't-I mean, we never--"

"Ooohh, alone with the saucy Italian lay-dayyy..." Dutchy grinned at him as he opened the fridge and helped himself to leftovers from the night before. "Nice one, Itey."

Everyone else made their way into the kitchen, all making themselves at home.

"Looks like you got more company than you bargained for, Sophie," Spot said, taking the crackers from her.

Itey whimpered.

"Sophia Angelina Higgins--"

"Not ONE word, _Anthony_," she snapped.

"I have much more than one word." He glowered.

"And I don't really care." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "So go to hell, _Fratello_."

"Don't you _dare_ take that tone with me, young lady."

"And don't _you_ dare tell _me_ what I can and can't do."

"This one isn't up to me; you know you're not allowed to have _him_ over," he jerked his thumb towards Itey, "when no one else is home."

She narrowed her eyes. "You breathe one word to Dad and I will make your life hell."

"I'm terrified." His voice was flat and sarcastic.

"You should be." Her voice, however, was very vehement, as though she already had a strategy to cause his misery worked out. "Try me," she added.

Mush casually leaned over and put an arm around Blink, then commented quietly, "Ten dollars on Tony getting his ass kicked."

"I'm not taking that. She's scaring _me_," he answered.

Race turned away from her, to face Itey, who actually winced. "And as for YOU, Gabriel--"

"Tony!" Sophia yelled.

"As for you," Race repeated.

Itey held his hands up defensively. "I didn't know there was a rule and I'd never have broken it if I did, and we weren't doing _anything_ except she was trying to teach me to cook, and I swear to god that's all."

"Yeah. Right."

"That IS right, _Racetrack_."

"Shut _up_."

"Listen, I have been nothing but a total, complete GENTLEMAN to her, you can't _still_ be acting like a jerk off to me about it!" Itey blurted out. Race stared, and before he could respond, Sophia broke in again.

"He hasn't even KISSED me yet, you have no idea how annoying it's getting." She looked at Itey. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What?" Itey asked incredulously. "But you never said you--"

"Well you never asked! Let alone _tried_!"

"I didn't know you wanted me to!"

"Duh! Are you as stupid as my brother?"

"Hey, don't take your frustration out on me..." Race was too busy observing with interest to be mad anymore, really.

"Gabriel, the dress I wore last night actually _screamed_ 'please look down my cleavage and take advantage of me!' are you _stupid_?"

"Woah, what dress was this?" Race demanded.

"Shut up," both of them snapped at him.

"I was being a gentleman, which I thought you _wanted_--"

"Okay," Mush interrupted, "we're gonna go back to the living room and wait for you two to work this out on your own." He actually grabbed the back of Race's collar. "_Aren't_ we?"

Race pulled his shirt free and glared. "...Fine," he said finally. "But _Rosetta_, we are having a very, very long talk later."

"Get out," she snapped, and Blink lead the way back to the living room, with Spot and Dutchy following, then Mush dragging Race along. Race sat on one of the couches and crossed his arms, clearly annoyed.

"Jesus, they haven't kissed yet," Dutchy said, shaking his head a little. "Itey's the least hormonal boy I've ever met."

"Thank GOD."

"Tony, seriously--" Mush started, and Race cut him off.

"I know, I know; she's sixteen, he's a nice guy, it could be worse, but I don't have to LIKE it. And them not being home alone together is DAD'S rule, not MINE."

"You make rules?" Dutchy sounded amused.

"No. But when it comes to Sophia dating, I sure as hell enforce them."

"You don't have to be an ass to her when she has a guy she actually _likes_," Spot snapped. Race glared at him.

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing Mr. I'm-Not-Ready-McGee."

"Jesus Christ!"

Mush turned to Blink and smiled. "We're the only couple in the world that doesn't argue like a couple of whores. I love it."

Blink kissed him lightly. "I know--pathetic losers."

Dutchy cleared his throat. "So, Blink, how about that Yankees game? We talking Murderer's Row this season or what?"

Mush's face fell. "I don't _think_ so."

Blink stared at him. "Come on, Mush, don't be blind. Just look at their line up--they're playing great."

"Well FINE, but the Sox--"

"Suck."

"They do not, you asshole!"

"Oh right, sorry, I guess it was ANOTHER team that keeps losing." Blink smiled. "My mistake."

"Blink--"

"Seriously, it's been since 1918. Don't blame ME because YOUR team sucks."

"Shut UP." Mush shoved Blink away from him. "I swear to God, you say one more word about the Red Sox and I'll castrate you in your sleep."

Spot shot a look at Dutchy, who smirked. "Wow, way to be manipulative," he said.

"Well, you know. As long as I'm surrounded by obnoxious couples but not getting any, I have to get my kicks _somehow_."

"We are NOT obnoxious," Mush snapped, then turned to Blink. "Take it _back_."

"I so don't think so."

"Take it _back_."

"And we're gonna kick their asses like we do _every_ year."

"I like how Blink is suddenly on the team," Dutchy added.

"Yeah, we'll fucking SEE about that. My man Nomar--"

"--is a pussy."

"TAKE THAT BACK."

"Okay, you two!" Race snapped. "I need you to shut up so I can overhear Itey and Sophia. And besides, you love each other too much to break up over baseball."

"But he's a _Yankees_ fan."

"Yeah? So am I."

"But, like the Yankees, you're spoiled and rich, and an asshole." Mush grinned. "So I'm not surprised by that."

Race made an offended noise, and Mush just went back to poking at Blink muttering 'take it _back_' over and over. Race turned to Dutchy.

Dutchy made a sympathetic face. "Aw, Tony, don't you worry, Mush is just psycho with baseball. _I_ don't think you're a spoiled, rich, asshole."

Spot snorted. Race kicked him.

Mush and Blink gave Dutchy their millionth odd looks of the day while Race shushed them and crept over to the kitchen door and tried to listen in on Itey and Sophia.

"They making any noise?" Dutchy asked.

"I can't hear," Race grumbled.

*

"I am not a _mindreader_, Sophia!"

"And I haven't been subtle, Gabriel!"

"Yes. You have."

"That dress--"

"Was stunning, but I didn't want to get slapped for kissing you when you didn't want me to."

"But I did--"

"But you didn't _tell_ me that!"

"I shouldn't have to!"

"Why not?" he demanded. "Seriously, _Rosetta_, I've never dated anyone before, EVER, and you're the most amazing girl I've ever met and I didn't want to screw things up, which apparently I did _anyway_, but I don't know what I'm doing so when you want something from me you have to tell me!"

"I hinted--"

"Hinting is not the same as saying."

"Are _all_ boys so stupid and oblivious?" she muttered.

"Yes."

There was a long moment of silence, and finally she snapped, "Well, Jesus, fine. I wanted you to kiss me ALL night and I was pretty pissed that you DIDN'T."

"Well, I WANTED to kiss you all night, but was scared that you'd SLAP me."

"When were you BORN? 1824?"

"For some reason, I feel like bringing up a scary Italian brother, and a huge, monster-like Italian father!"

"Don't talk about my daddy that way!"

"My POINT is..." Itey sighed, looking at anything but Sophia. "I don't know what to do, okay? You're...funny and smart and...and I don't have any problem talking to you. But you're..." Itey sighed again. "God, you are so incredibly beautiful that I don't know what to DO when it comes to...kissing and that sort of thing because I'm scared I'll do it wrong."

A long silence followed. The look Sophia was giving Itey made him feel incredibly stupid.

"I'm just being honest, okay?"

"You are such a dope." Sophia shook her head.

"I know. Which is why I can't believe that you wanted me to kiss you."

"Want."

"What?"

"I _want_ you to kiss me, you dope."

"Oh." He gave her a sheepish smile. She cleared her throat meaningfully. "What?" he asked.

"That means DO it!"

"Oh! Right." He paused. "Uh, how should I... Uh..."

She rolled her eyes and reached forward towards him, put an arm around his neck and her other hand at the back of his head, leaned in and kissed him. Just a quick, closed mouth kiss, but his eyes went wide and when he started to say "Wow," she took advantage of his open mouth and kissed him again, this time a little more passionately. And he looked just as startled, but after a second got the hang of it and met her embrace with his own, and really, it was the best first kiss Sophia had ever had. And the first real kiss he had, so they were both quite pleased.

*

On the other side of the door, Race's face had gone white. "There's no noise."

"They must be having hot, wild, jungle sex." Mush smiled. Spot snorted and grinned at him.

"Nice one, super-fag."

"Thanks, Spoterella."

"No, no, serious, there's no noise!" Race's voice cracked. "W-what if they're DOING something?"

"Maybe she killed him!" Dutchy exclaimed, his eyes going wide. "Oh my god, she killed Itey!"

"She so did!" Race agreed, and Dutchy hurried over next to him to the door. Mush, Blink and Spot all continued sitting and staring, because really, Dutchy and Race could be very stupid.

"Well, open it," Race snapped at Dutchy.

Dutchy, who happened to think Race ordering him around was hot, cleared his throat and opened the door...

"GET AWAY FROM HER."

"Tony!" Itey yelped, but to his credit didn't actually get away from Sophia, who also didn't move away from him.

"You get away from HIM."

"I don't think so. Now go back to the living room, we're busy." And she kissed Itey, an act of defiance towards her brother more than passion towards her boyfriend.

"Sophia!" he yelped. "I do not need to see--"

She broke away from Itey long enough to snap, "Then GO AWAY!"

"Come _on_," Dutchy said, as if he suddenly came to his senses, and he grabbed Race's wrist and pulled him away, shutting the door behind them.

"I'll kill them both, and then bring them back to life and kill them AGAIN."

"They were just _kissing_." Spot rolled his eyes. "Which is not a big deal. It's not like they were fooling around. Which also isn't such a big deal, to anyone but YOU."

"I do not need _you_ on top of _them_ right now, Spot."

"Now there's a mental image," Mush whispered to Blink, who grinned in response.

"What?" Spot snapped. "I said I'd fucking go at your pace; you can't expect me to like it!"

"I can expect you to keep your fucking voice down, though!" Race half-shouted, then realized how loud he was and glowered and sank into an arm chair.

They glared at each other, and finally Race looked away, and Spot noted smugly that he'd still never lost a staring contest.

Mush was observing Race through all this, and finally Race, who was now also in a terrible mood (much Spot's glee), turned to glare at Mush.

"What are you staring at?" He snapped.

"Your sister has great fashion sense--better than you." Mush nodded. "Did you see, Blinkee? She was wearing sweatpants, but they fit her _perfectly_ and the shirt--"

"Stop talking," Spot said.

"Was so well--"

"Stop talking."

"I'm gonna--"

"PLEASE stop talking."

"Go shopping with her--"

"FUCK all," Spot growled, back in a horrible mood. "Tonnnyyyyy..."

"No."

"But--"

"No."

He grumbled. "I hate you."

"You two need a functional relationship." Blink nodded.

Dutchy smiled. "Hey, Blink, so the Sox had a pretty good postseason last year, huh?"

"NO."

"Yes!" Mush whapped him.

Dutchy smiled. Yes. Scandals were fun.

The door opened again, and Itey and Sophia walked in, hand in hand. "So we made up," Sophia declared.

"Fucking spiffy for you," Spot answered.

"Shut up, Sean," she responded cheerfully, leading Itey over to the loveseat and putting an arm around him as soon as they sat down. Racetrack positively glowered at them, and Itey gave him an apologetic look, but didn't _actually_ apologize, and certainly didn't plan to move.

"My family goes to Yankees games sometimes," Race said finally, deciding to ignore his sister. "But usually one of us at least is busy so we've got an extra seat, if you ever want to come, Blink. Our seats are pretty good."

"Are you KIDDING me?" Blink answered. "Are you fucking--oh my GOD, yes."

"I hate you _all_," Mush whined.

"Blame Babe Ruth," Race answered him, then turned back to his sister. "Okay, you two. Never, ever do I want to catch you home alone together again. But I'll keep my mouth shut _this_ time. I'm gonna go get some fucking Skittles and then cook us dinner." He stood and stomped out of the room.

Spot hesitated for a second, then sighed. "_Someone's_ having a craving," he muttered. "I'm gonna go make sure he's not as stupid as... Well, he usually is." And he left to go check on Race, or at least, that was what he was going to do as far as Sophia knew.

Spot trudged up the stairs, feeling oddly light headed and suddenly back in a good mood, and found Race in his room, digging through his desk looking for Skittles. Spot came up behind him after shutting the door with his foot, which made Race jump. He turned to face him, and gave his shoulder a light punch.

"Don't scare me, ass, I'm paranoid right now. Duh."

Spot ignored him, giving him a steady stare that was pretty damn suggestive.

"Spot, stop it. People could have my room bugged."

"No one has your room bugged." Spot rolled his eyes, slipping his arms around Race's waist.

"How do you know?"

"You're a teenager, why the fuck would they risk putting a bug in here considering all the disgusting stuff you do?" Spot leaned down. "Jerking off thinking about me, that sort of thing."

Race pushed him again but Spot laughed and kept a tight hold.

"You're in a bad mood," Spot muttered, when Race finally pulled away from him and went back to finding his Skittles.

"Yeah? Well, you had sex with a girl."

"Don't remind me." He leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Where the FUCK are they, I know I had another bag..." Race muttered to himself, and finally found a bag of Tropical Skittles shoved in the back of his drawer. He didn't like the Tropical ones; he'd grabbed them by mistake, which is why they were still there. But sugar was sugar, so he poured four of them into his mouth anyway and turned back to Spot. "Fucking craving," he muttered.

"I bet I can get your mind off it better than those Skittles..." Spot mused.

"No," Race answered. Spot snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Go to _Jessica_ if you--"

"Would you shut up?!" Spot snapped. "Jesus Christ, Tony, you sound like a fucking woman."

"I bet you love that."

"If I _did_, I WOULD be fucking a woman. But I'm not, am I? I'm going with Mr. 'I'm-Not-Ready'."

Race just grumbled as he popped more skittles into his mouth. "Go away."

"What's _with_ you?"

"Itey kissing my sister is what's with me!" Race snapped. "You having sex with Jessica is what's with me! My freaking mafia father and freaking fuck GOD." He poured the bag in his mouth, attempted to talk, which didn't work, and he tried chewing with all of those skittles in his mouth.

Which didn't work out too well either.

"Ugh." Spot shuddered. "Why do I want you?"

Race answered something, but it was lost in the Skittles and a string of colored spittle escaped his lips. He reached up to wipe it off and Spot grabbed his wrist before he could, and actually leaned forward and kissed it off.

Race pulled away and spat most of the mushed up Skittles into the trash can by his desk, then turned back to Spot. "That's disgusting."

"It's not like we don't swap spit when we make out."

Race rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but--"

"And it was fruit flavored. And also, you're a moron."

"Yeah, yeah." Race sat down on his desk and faced Spot. "Seriously, we can't. And I know you're horny or whatever, but my sister is home..."

"And occupied. _Her_ boyfriend is here, too."

"Don't remind me." Race snorted in disgust. "Ugh, they weren't supposed to actually _do_ anything."

"Don't be such a grandma." Spot was smirking again. "You know, you're gonna be one of those fucking old men who throws things at kids who ride by your ass on their bikes."

"Oh, what a romantic thing to say to me."

"Look who's talking." Spot picked up Race's drumsticks off of his music stand and smashed the cymbal. "Look look, I'm Spazzy McGee!"

"Who?"

"Never mind." Spot fiddled with the drumsticks. "What's wrong? You're acting like such an asshole."

Race shrugged.

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Come on, talk to me. I'm your _boyfriend_, Chrissake."

"Yeah, I _know_." He sighed a little. "Spot, I want to tell my family."

"...Uh, that's probably not a good idea, _Midgito_."

"No kidding. But Jesus, I just feel like I'm _waiting_ to get caught, I _hate_ it. I want to be with you. I want to make out with you whenever I damn well please. I don't want to come up with _excuses_ to go places with you or to have to run to the fucking bathroom, I just want to be with you. And just--seeing those two just doesn't HELP."

Spot cocked his head. "That's sweet, in a really fucked up way."

"Well, whatever."

"Hey. I want to be with you too. Which is why I'm up here and why I locked the door behind me."

Race bit his lip slightly, and glanced at the closed door behind Spot, then glanced over his own shoulder to his window, where the blinds were down. "Well, I dunno, Spot, I just..."

"No one's watching, no one can hear." Spot was standing close to him again. And he smelled so freaking good Race could hardly believe it; kind of like hot spices. He was kissing Race's neck slightly, leaving hot patches on his skin after his mouth trailed to a different part of his neck.

Race moaned slightly. "Spoo-oott, do-"

But Spot kissed him and Race could not resist Spot kissing him because it was fucking _Spot._

Still, he had to keep his head because...

He couldn't come up with a single decent reason, but that was probably because he was quickly becoming preoccupied. So Race kissed back and Spot nudged him to towards the bed and they collapsed down onto it, the comforter billowing around Race and Spot on top of him, grinding his pelvis into Race's slightly, and Race moaned a little.

"Shh," Spot said, separating for a moment. "You get loud there, sexy." And then they went back to kissing, Spot with one hand tangled in Race's hair and Race gripping Spot's shoulders tightly, nails digging slightly into his back.

Spot began to trail kisses down Race's neck, to suck at the space where his jawline met his neck and Race groaned and tried to pull away. "No--no hickeys--" he managed. "_Sister_ downstairs..."

Spot made an annoyed noise, but went back to kissing and grinding and groping and Race realized that Spot was right; this was _way_ better than Skittles. He started to pull away to tell him so, but there was a knock on his door.

"Tony?" It was Sophia. The doorknob rattled. "_Tony_?!" she said again.

Race looked panicked and shoved Spot off of him; for a change Spot didn't object. "Yeah, what's... Up?" he called awkwardly.

"Your friends were wondering where you disappeared to," she said, and tried the door again. "It's _locked_, what's going on?"

"Nothing!" he snapped.

"Anthony Paulo Higgins, open your goddamned door!" she yelled.

"_Rosetta_, _what_ are you freaking out about?" he demanded, walking over and unlocking it.

"Cocaine, dumbass," she snarled, pulling the door open and stepping in--and seeing Spot lounging on Race's bed innocently. She gave him a weird look.

"No cocaine, see? Just me and Sean... Talking."

"Yea-ah," she said. "Talking." She gave him an odd look. "_What's_ going on, Tony?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Then why was the door locked?" She gave a strange look at Spot, then back at Race, and suddenly she sounded very serious. "Tony..."

"What?" He tried to feign innocence.

"You've been acting really weird lately." She hesitated. "And you and Sean have... Been hanging out a... An awful lot."

"Yeah? We get along." He shrugged.

"_How_ well?"

"Sophia..." He trailed off. "It's nothing. Anyway, I was just about to go start dinner."

She shook her head a little. "Tony, don't lie to me; you're not very good at it." Again, she threw an odd look at Spot.

Spot sat up. "Hey, Sophie; your brother's gay. Get over it."

And Race turned around and stared at him, then turned back to her. "Sophia, I--Jesus CHRIST, Spot, that wasn't--it wasn't fucking FUNNY."

"Well, you said you wanted to tell your family, and we got caught. Sophia's not gonna tell on us anyway."

"Spot..." Race trailed off and shook his head, then looked back at Sophia, who looked... Amused, sort of, but like she was trying to cover desperately for something else.

"Well. _Fratello_." She shrugged. "You never, ever, ever get to lecture me and Gabe again. Go cook your friends dinner."

Race wasn't talking, just opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He nodded, but before he left the room, gave Spot a swift punch in the shoulder. Then he stormed out of the room.

Spot swore under his breath, rubbing his shoulder, and started to walk out, but Sophia stood in front of him, hands on her hips. Spot raised an eyebrow. Sophia glared.

_"What?"_

"You..." Sophia started, but stopped. "That's...I...just GO." She pushed him. "Eat something for chrissake!"

"You're the boss," Spot said, trudging down the stairs in a careless fashion. Sophia bit her lip. "Sean?"

"What?" She hurried to catch up with him on the stairwell.

"Does Gabe know?"

"Duh."

Sophia growled and raced ahead of him on the stairs. A few minutes later, as he walked into the kitchen to follow Race, he heard a loud smack and Itey yelping.

"IDIOT!"

"What did I _DO_?"

"You are supposed TELL me things. Like, I don't know, semi-important details like MY BROTHER BEING GAY."

Race walked past Spot, ignoring him, and stuck his head into the living room. "_Rosetta_, not his fault. Come help me cook."

"HAH. No."

"We should talk, Sophia."

"Later. Gabe and I are going to go into _my_ room and _lock the door_ and call us when dinner's ready, you jackass."

Race winced and nodded, and retreated to the kitchen, where Spot had made himself at home leaning on a counter.

"So, you're pretty pissed at me, huh?"

"YES."

"Okay. Well, I'm just gonna stand here and wait while you cook and calm down and realize that it's not such a big deal."

"You're a total ass. I can not BELIEVE you did this to me!"

"Tony, you'd just said..." He trailed off. "It's not like she's gonna tell anyone. I bet you once she's done being shocked, she's totally cool."

"Yeah, besides being a fucking Catholic!" Race angrily grabbed ingredients. "Fine, so she won't tell, but she probably thinks a hell of a lot less of me than she did before!"

"Then she's not much of a sister."

SLAM. Race's hands banged down on the counter and Spot jumped slightly. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"I wasn't saying that--"

"You don't have any RIGHT--"

"For chrissake! What, is it your period--"

"You don't even have any idea--"

"How would YOU know what I--"

"Oh shut UP," Mush snapped, walking in and past Race, opening the cupboard and grabbing a box of crackers. "Tony, stop bitching; Spot, stop being... Spot."

"Blink, get a muzzle for your fairy," Spot said as Blink came into the kitchen.

"Spot, go fuck Jessica Craig," Blink answered. "Seriously; we can hear you guys in the living room, and I bet Sophia can hear you upstairs."

"Yeah, so?" Spot demanded.

Mush continued, "And honestly? I don't think she and Itey are making out, I think she's just _freaking_ out. And," he added emphatically, "she's doing it to him so she doesn't do it to you, because she doesn't want _you two_ to think less of _her_ for being startled." He shrugged. "But what do I know?"

"Mush..." Race started, then trailed off. "I don't want Sophia to be freaked out by me."

"She'll get over it," Mush answered. "I think it's good that she knows, Tony."

"But..."

"Yeah, I know. You're nervous and it sucks and your family doesn't make things easy. Been there, done that, have the overpriced, designer T-shirt. Sophia is _so_ much cooler than my family; you'll be _fine_." He gave Spot a pointed look. "So both of you, behave yourselves."

Spot glared, but didn't say anything; Blink took the box of crackers and headed back to the living room. Mush hesitated another moment, patted Race's back encouragingly, smacked Spot upside the head (albeit gently) and followed him.

"HEY!" Spot yelled after him. "What was THAT for?"

"For making out with the guy I was in love with for three years!" Mush yelled back, but he was laughing as he said it. Spot grumbled and Race turned a little red, and was very glad that Blink wasn't in punching distance.

"Anyway." Spot grabbed the front of Race's shirt and dragged him close. "So she knows, big whoop. Now let's fuck."

"No!" Race poked his stomach, but didn't pull away. "Not--"

"Ready, wah wah."

"I'm _not_."

Spot snorted and stomped his foot slightly. "I knoooow." He saw Race was hanging his head slightly, and bit on his lip as he trailed his hand down to Race's waist. "Hey, you know, if your dad acts like a shit, you still have me, you know. It won't change that."

Race smiled up at him, brightly, and laughed a little. "You're such a bitch and you _so_ love me."

Spot rolled his eyes, and kissed him, lightly. Whenever Spot didn't start a game of tonsil hockey when they kissed, it threw Race off. In a good way.

Spot pulled away. "You know what sucks?" he murmured.

"What?"

"You're gonna cook, and watching you cook is gonna make me all horny, and you're not ready to let me go down on you again. Let alone the other way around."

Race half-smiled. "Your life must be so difficult."

"You've got no idea." Spot finally stepped away from him, then said in a normal voice, "So, cook for me already."

"I'm cooking for _everyone_."

"Yeah, so _what's_ your point?"

"...You can set the table."

"Fuck _you_."

"Do it."

"People will _see_."

"I know!" Race kissed him again. "Best part."

"Make me."

"Spot..."

"Or grab my crotch."

"GO." Race shoved him out of the kitchen, and Spot resumed grumbling. He'd been doing a lot of that lately--the sexual frustration was almost too much to take. Race was lucky because...no, wait, he was frustrated too.

Damn.

So Spot angrily began to actually set the table, and when Dutchy wandered in, and started laughing, all he had to do was _glare_ and Dutchy sobered up immediately. "Something _funny_?" he demanded.

"Nope. Nothing at all."

"I _thought_ so."

And Dutchy retreated quickly, and Spot was glad that he could at least scare someone into doing what he wanted, since Race insisted on being uncooperative. And on some level he really _did_ understand, and he didn't want to pressure Race into doing something he wouldn't be able to handle. No, he wasn't used to being gay yet; the thought of being with a boy was utterly against everything he'd ever considered normal and even though he clearly _was_ attracted to Spot, he couldn't act on it yet.

Sure. Spot understood.

He really didn't like it, though.

Really, Spot didn't like a lot.

"Dude!" Dutchy rushed back into the room. "There's _no noise_ coming from upstairs, but Mush SWORE he heard crying! What if Sophie's CRYING?"

"Keep it the fuck down!" Spot snapped. "You want Tony to hear?"

"No, I just--"

"Yeah yeah," Spot stared menacingly at the table. "God, she'll be fine. Leave her alone."

Dutchy rolled his eyes. "You are _such_ a bitch lately, you know. You bite my fucking head off every time I talk to you."

"I act the same as I always did, you're just testier."

"I wonder _why_."

"Not _my_ fault you're a cokehead."

"Yeah? So's your boyfriend."

"Recovered."

"_Ha_." Dutchy scoffed visibly. "No such thing, dickweed. Only recover_ing_."

"Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever." Dutchy glared at him. "You should seriously back off him on the sex thing, Spot. You're being a dick."

"So's he."

"Yeah, but only because YOU are because he's just NOT ready, and if you fucking wait he'll let you know when he IS. But if you keep being a dick about it, he's just going to freak out MORE."

"What the hell do you know about it?"

"More than you think." Dutchy glared at him for a second, then shrugged. "Whatever. Just don't fuck up your chances with him."

"What the hell do you _care_?"

"I don't. No skin off _my_ back if he dumps you."

"Well, he won't."

"If you stop being a dick he won't."

"Would you mind your own fucking business!?" Spot snapped. "What the hell do YOU know about being with anyone? All you ever do are one night stands, and well, gee, that hasn't been going to well lately either, has it?" Spot shook his head. "Bitch."

"YOU'RE the bitch!"

"Fucking blond."

"Twig-ass woman."

"Mind your own business." Spot ducked his head and continued setting the table. "Fuck off."

Dutchy bit his lip. "You don't deserve him."

"_What_?" Spot demanded, looking up dangerously.

"You heard me, Spot."

"I don't believe my fucking EARS."

Dutchy shrugged. "Look. All I'm saying is, he's a good guy. And he likes you. But he's also really fucking SCARED, and you're making it worse, and telling Sophia didn't help at ALL. Don't pressure him. Don't freak him out. Just be NICE and try to be supportive for once in your damned life." He glared a little. "Or don't; see if I fucking care."

Spot started to answer, but Dutchy cut him off.

"I don't care anyway. I'm gonna go make Mush and Blink fight about baseball some more."

"Good, fuck off, and don't fucking talk to me."

Dutchy rolled his eyes. "I--"

"FUCK OFF."

Dutchy recoiled slightly, then left without saying anything more. Spot just went back to grumbling.

Race entered the room, putting a water pitcher on the table, and did a double take when he saw Spot's face.

"You okay?"

"No," Spot spat.

Race bit his lip. "Wanna talk?"

"N-" Spot glanced up, and then bit the inside of his cheek, a habit Race noted that Spot did whenever he was on the verge of getting really emotional. "I love you."

Race jumped a bit, and Spot wasn't looking at him anymore. "Yeah, I...I love you too."

"Good." Spot pulled away from the table. "I feel sick, I'll be right back."

Then Spot walked off.

*

Dutchy sat down on one of the chairs in the living room, and noticed that Mush and Blink, apparently, were done fighting because they were making out, and groping, and if Dutchy was anyone else he'd have felt very awkward. But he wasn't, so he just cleared his throat loudly, and waited while Mush hesitantly disentangled himself from Blink and they looked over at him.

"I hate everything. Just so you know," Dutchy said.

"Great. So you're sharing the hate. We were having _fun_."

"Because I _care_? I could use some support here."

"Oh?" Mush raised an eyebrow.

Dutchy sank back against the chair. "Yeah. Figures the only reason Tony would stop being in denial is so he can date Spot."

"Dutchy," Blink sighed. "You have a crush on _every_--"

"Not usually this bad. It _sucks_."

Mush nodded. "I know how it is."

Blink pouted. "Shut _up_. Dutch, come on, I love Tony, he's great and Italian and all that jazz, but the fact of the matter is, he and Spot are like the couple in the movies that isn't the main focus but you like them best anyways."

"YOU shut up," Mush snapped. "You don't know a thing. Dutchy, just ignore him and try and think about anything not-Tony. My favorites were vacuums and Cher."

Blink stared.

"What?"

"No, thanks, I prefer not to think about Cher, and vacuum just makes me think of sucks and that just makes me think of--"

"OH GOD."

"Shut up, Blinkee."

"Just don't bug Spot, okay?" Blink made a disgusted face at Dutchy once more. "Because he likes Tony a lot and Spot hides things and so if his feelings are hurt or whatever he just sits and stews and gets worse. So don't do anything stupid to him or he'll be all depressed or something." Blink slapped his back. "'Kay?"

Dutchy made an odd squeaking noise.

Blink sighed. "You already did that, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it'll give me something to talk to him about in study hall on Monday."

"Sorry, Blink."

"Just get over the crush, 'cause it's not gonna happen. And it's the first time Spot's actually having a good experience with dating, so _please_ don't screw that up."

"I won't." Dutchy shrugged. "I wouldn't have anyway. I don't go for friend's boys or girls or whatever. Just... It sucks for me to see them and, you know, _all_ of my friends are in relationships now."

"...David?" Mush suggested.

"Ha. _Jack_."

Mush laughed and Blink chuckled, and Dutchy sighed. "Look, you'll be fine. Just give it time," Mush said.

"Yeah..." Dutchy sighed. "Yeah."

*

"Gabe?"

"Mm?"

"Am I hard to talk to?"

Itey didn't say anything for a moment. He was sitting in Sophia's revolving chair and she was laying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She'd ranted about Spot and Race for about fifteen minutes and then just went silent, staring up into space. Itey had let her be because Sophia gave off a very serious 'let me be' vibe... But he had sat on the foot of the bed for a moment before she barked at him to sit in the desk chair.

"No." Itey sighed. "Sophie, he didn't keep it from you because of any of that. He was just scared how you'd react because it's not exactly a simple thing."

"I know!" She let out a frustrated noise. "But he's my BROTHER, and we're CLOSE."

"Yeah, but..." Itey trailed off.

"There's no 'but.' Doesn't he trust me?"

"It's not like that, _Rosetta_. I don't even think it's that he was afraid you'd tell your dad or anything. He was just afraid you'd be upset or disappointed in him, and he didn't want to risk that."

"How do _you_ know?" she demanded.

"It's... a guess. But I think it's right because after the night with... _that_ night, what he was most upset about was... telling his family. Because he knew everyone would be so upset and he hated knowing that he'd let everyone down yet again, and just... I think he thinks he's a disappointment to all of you and that this will just make him worse." Itey shrugged a little.

"God, he's stupid," Sophia said, after thinking it over for a minute. "He really is."

"Yeah, but..." Itey pushed himself around in the chair. "He already thinks you'll never forgive him for the... problem he had back then, so I guess he's just super sensitive to you being remotely disappointed in him."

Sophia was silent, and then she sat up. "Gabe, do _you_ tell me everything?"

Itey turned a little red. He glanced at her, stared at her. "The stuff I don't tell is just because I'm too shy to tell you. I didn't tell you the thing with Tony because it was his to tell, you wouldn't have wanted to find out from me. And... The rest isn't important."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "'Rest'? What 'rest'?"

"Just small stuff, don't worry about it. The point is, you didn't do anything wrong, okay? Tony loves you and you two will talk and everything will be fine and you'll be back to punching each other in the face in no time."

Sophia laughed and Itey smiled fondly at her.

He reached over and grabbed her hand, and she tugged him down to the bed so they were sitting next to each other, and then wrapped her arms around his shoulder and leaned in, and the next moment they were kissing again.

*

"Don't sit on the counter," Race said distractedly, up to his elbows in flower while he flattened the pizza crust.

Spot hadn't realized that when Race said he was going to make pizza, he meant from scratch. He should have figured, but the concept of someone who genuinely _loved_ cooking was a little foreign to him still.

"But there are no chairs in the room."

"Whine whine whine." Race turned around and flicked some flour at him. Spot wrinkled his nose, which Race found impossibly cute, but he was too busy cooking to pursue that line of thought.

"Uh... Tony?" Spot said after a long quiet, while Race slid the crust onto a baking pan.

"Yeah?"

Spot shrugged. "Just... I know I was being a bitch earlier and I'm sorry, and I really... Okay, I really am _not_ thrilled with waiting but hey, it's waiting for _you_. So I'll try and tone it down a bit."

Race grinned and then impulsively set down the baking tray and leaned over and kissed Spot, just a quick thing, and then went back to cooking.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"But, uh, you _will_ let me know when you're ready, right?"

"Yes. Ass." But Race was smiling, so it was okay.

Spot grinned, and then Race had to laugh. "What?" Spot asked.

"You're going to kill me, can't say."

"No, fucker, tell me."

"Nothing."

Spot kicked at him from the counter; he still hadn't budged. "Tell me."

"You look cute."

Spot's smile faded. "_What_?"

"You have flour on your nose!" Race put up his hands in defense. "Not my fault! Look at yourself! Cute!"

"I'm not fucking cute."

"You are now."

"Screw YOU."

"We just talked about that."

Spot growled, and went to rub his nose, but Race grabbed his wrist so he couldn't. "Not fucking cute..." Spot mumbled.

"MUSH!" Race called. "He'll settle this."

A muffled "What!" was his response.

"Come here!"

"But--"

"Come the fuck here, Fairy McGee!" Spot joined in.

Grumbling was heard as Mush stomped his way into the kitchen. "What? Spot, you have flour on your nose."

"I know," Spot snapped.

"So, is Spot cute?" Race asked. Spot kicked him a tad too hard this time.

Mush laughed. Loudly.

"_Pardon_?" Spot demanded.

"Sorry, Spot." But Mush couldn't stop laughing so the words were hard to understand, and then he yelled, "BLINK, DUTCHY you HAVE to see this!" and about three seconds later the two blondes appeared in the kitchen.

"What do we--oh wow, Spot's cute," Blink said.

"Blink!" Spot snapped.

"Hey. Cute in an 'I'd never be attracted to you _ever'_ kind of way. You have flour on your nose."

"I am NOT cute." He pulled his hand away from Race and wiped the flour off his nose, only to have Race flick some more at him and grin.

"Dinner in... Half an hour," Race declared. "And you are so cute."

"Shut. Up."

"Awwwwww."

"And now he's got flour in his hair, too," Dutchy noted.

"Fuck off and DIE."

"Awwwwwwwwwwwww."

"I will kick your ass, Mardoslavic, swear to God."

Dutchy grinned at him, slapped his shoulder in a brotherly fashion, and said, "Don't worry, I'm just kidding, ya cutie." And then he fled the room as quickly as he could.

Spot stared at the floor for a few seconds (Blink and Mush still going 'aawww' and 'kissy kissy' over and over), finally got off the counter, grabbed the flour from Race and flung two little handfuls into Blink and Mush's faces. Then he smiled and smacked his flour covered hand on Race's ass and chest before handing the bowl back.

"I'll get your sister and that guy she's fucking. Oh sorry, Itey." And Spot was humming when he left the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, still featuring the flour handprints, Race wandered into the living room. "It's in the oven," he declared, while he noted that Mush and Blink were sitting on the couch together, holding hands and looking comfortable, Itey and Sophia were looking _equally_ comfortable on the loveseat (he tried to tell himself that Itey was the safe and he didn't have to freak out), while Dutchy and Spot were still glaring at each other.

Sophia jumped a little when he walked in, then forced a smile onto her face, and he winced. "_Rosetta_?" he asked. "Are you... okay?"

"Fine."

"...Okay."

"I am. Are... Are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine so long as you're fine."

"Wow, you two are stupid," Spot said. Race smacked the back of his head. Sophia smiled a little.

"Shut up, Sean," she said. "Tony, just... Jesus, it _startled_ me. But... You know, I want you to be happy."

He smiled. "Good."

"...But seriously, never ever pester me and Gabe again. I've got blackmail now."

"Sophiiiiia!" Race whined.

"I _love_ you." Spot grinned at her. "Use it. Use it _all_."

"You're PART of the blackmail, stupid!" Race snapped.

"It's worth it." Spot fluttered his eyelashes at him, and Race swung to smack his head again, but Spot dodged.

"That isn't a healthy relationship..." Dutchy muttered, and got angry looks from everyone. He responded by batting his eyelashes innocently, which set off another round of bickering between him and Spot, and Race still didn't know why (which Mush and Blink found hilarious) and Sophia and Itey were still making loving faces at each other, until finally the buzzer went off in the kitchen and dinner was ready.

So they all sat, ate dinner, and for some reason, Race felt more light headed and happy about things than he had in awhile.

Sophia volunteered to cook dessert, because that was her specialty, and Race settled into the living room with his friends. They'd rotated seats, though, because Mush and Blink claimed the loveseat, and Spot and Race were now sort of draped over each other, taking up more of the couch than should have been physically possible, forcing Itey to sit on the arm, because Dutchy _still_ had the chair.

"So two sisters know," Dutchy mused. "Three people left to tell."

"Not happening," Race answered.

"Come on, your family will still love you." Itey sounded convinced of the fact.

"Maria... would. Mom, maybe, if I'm lucky. Dad would... Uh..." He trailed off.

"Throw a shit fit?" Spot suggested.

"Yeah, that's it."

"He's _such_ an asshole."

"Come on, you don't know that," Itey pressed. "And once it's over, you two could actually... _be_ together. You know?"

"Except that he'd probably be _dead_," Mush said. "Itey... Sophia is great, which is why she has no problems. But Mr. Higgins is very different. He hates _me_; I can't imagine how he'd react to Tony..."

"He shook your hand, like, five times at the concert, though," Blink pointed out to Mush.

"Yeah." Mush sighed. "Right, well. You remember I mentioned earlier about Tony beating the crap out of the guy who was making my life hell?" He got nods in response, except from Itey, but he continued anyway. Race looked distinctly uncomfortable, but didn't say anything. "Right, well, his dad... Uh, got really pissed at him. Not for getting into a fight, but because he did it to help _me_. Like... _really_ pissed... He, uh..."

Race sighed a little and looked down at the floor, feeling everyone's eyes on him. Sometimes, he thought this was the worst part about his relationship with his father. The pity somehow felt worse than the bruises.

"Tony?" Blink prompted finally, quietly.

"Dad got angry at me and he did... what he always does when he's angry at me." He shrugged, and tried to pretend it wasn't an awkward, awful moment, if only because Sophia was in the room and he didn't want her upset. "So yeah. Telling my dad is not an option."

There was a long silence, and Spot slung his arm around Race and kind of hugged him; as much as Spot could hug a person anyhow.

"Stop fucking pestering," Spot snapped, and everyone knew it was just Spot's way of telling them to leave the subject alone. "Anyway, the secret thing is hot. We're cooler than all of you combined."

"Yeah, but Sophia could pull off the secret spy hot suit," Dutchy said.

Silence.

"This is true," Mush concluded, sounding very gay.

Itey and Race were not amused.

"I could be a spy too," Mush added. "I'm stylish."

"Yeah, but you couldn't sneak your way out of a bag." Blink gave his cheek a peck. "You big klutz, you."

"Shut up, Blink," Mush said easily. "At least I don't look like I was a pirate in my last life and couldn't quite reincarnate."

"Hey, you said the eyepatch was hot."

"It is. It's also ridiculous."

"Is not." Blink said it softly and Mush grabbed his hand and held it tight.

"So what _is_ with the eyepatch?" Spot demanded. "I mean, I know about the accident and your eye and all, but why the patch?"

"Because he was a severely misguided nine year old," Itey replied.

"Shut up, _Gabriel_."

Itey shrugged, and Blink sighed.

"I somehow figured that people would make less fun of me for that than for the glass eye. So... I started wearing it and... Well, I was wrong, and my life was kind of hellish for awhile, but it just became sort of my thing and no one notices anymore anyway."

Race and Spot both nodded a little; Race was just grateful that the subject no longer focused on what a bastard his dad was.

But there was still kind of a somber, depressed tone to the room, so Spot finally spoke up to break it. "David and Jack had a sleepover, Blink."

Blink snorted. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, they rented _movies_ and have matching sleeping bags."

Blink and Spot laughed.

"You two are the gayest best friends ever," Itey noted. "It's very bizarre."

"You two ever hook up?" Race asked curiously.

"Ew," Blink said, and Spot kicked him.

"Hooking up with _you_ is gross. Not me. I'm hot." He grinned. "Right, Dutchy?"

"Shut _up_, Spot."

"Wait, _what_?"

"Well, I couldn't have my nickname if I hadn't hooked up with _someone_ we knew," Spot said.

"Shut _up_, Spot," Dutchy repeated.

"Oooooh." Race nodded. "Right, well... You're totally taken now."

"Not him I want anyway." Dutchy sounded vaguely bitter, and Race had no idea why; Blink found that vaguely amusing, while Mush was entirely empathetic and gave Dutchy a sad smile. Because really, there was no one on the entire planet more clueless than Racetrack Higgins.

"Dessert!"

Sophia's voice cut through the slightly awkward quiet from the kitchen, and given that she was speaking to a group of teenage boys, they all dashed for the kitchen and she was surrounded a moment later.

"It's nothing complicated, but..." She gestured to the counter, which featured strawberries, home made whipped cream, and melted chocolate for the strawberries to be dipped in.

"Itey," Dutchy said, reaching for one of the berries, "you are a lucky, lucky guy."

"And Sophia, you and I _have_ to go shopping together," Mush declared.

Sophia gave him a strange look, then considered, then nodded. "Okay." She paused, then poked Spot in the ribs. "You, eat." She turned back to Mush. "We should get Sean a new wardrobe. 'Cause really, Tony is pretty hopeless at dressing himself, but even _he_ has better fashion than _that_."

"Fuck you," Spot answered, and Race smacked him.

"Watch your mouth around my sister!"

"She insulted _me_!"

"No, but she's right," Mush declared. "I've seen you wear flannel, Spot. _Flannel_."

"Oh, god." Sophia rolled her eyes. "We're shopping for him. There is no way I'm letting my brother date someone with _that_ little style."

"HEY!" Spot yelled, at the same time as Race muttered, "You don't have a say in who I date, Sophia!"

And she smirked at him, then looked at Mush, who grinned.

"Next Saturday?"

"I am _so_ there."

"Great!"

"Aw, look." Blink patted Sophia's head. "You're a fag hag, how does it feel?"

"Oddly nice." Sophia considered, and Mush smiled.

"Blinkee, I have my very own wife, I'm so glad!"

So then Sophia and Mush started being married and Itey inched away and Race looked like he wanted to shoot himself. Blink thought it was sweet, but he thought everything his boy did was sweet.

"Hey." Spot looked down at himself. "I look _good_. My clothes _rock_."

"You kind of look like one of those skinny rock addicts from the 70's." Race considered. "It's the shirts with the weird logos. Where the hell did you get a tee that says..." Race stared at the labeling. "_Voulez Vous_ Fuck Me?"

Spot smiled. "For me to know and you to find out."

"You _have_ worn flannel, Spot."

"You slicked back your hair for a _band_ concert."

"I looked good."

"Good as in womanly."

"Well, _you_ wanted to jump me, so there."

"Hey, you look good in a tux. I was ignoring the hair." He smirked. "Why do you think I made you put on that hat?"

"Shut _up_!" Race glanced around as he reached for another strawberry and saw that Sophia looked a little uncomfortable, but was clearly trying not to. He also wondered why they were crowded around the kitchen counter when everything was on a tray, which he then picked up and carried to a table.

"Chocolate strawberries," Dutchy announced to no one in particularly, "are better than cocaine."

There was an odd pause. Then Blink smacked him for good measure, and he grinned and ate another strawberry, and Race coughed a little.

"Oh, right," Sophia said. "That was _you_. Idiot."

"Sophia," Race said darkly.

"Well, he is. For the exact same reason you are, _Fratello_. And I know _you're_ not gonna argue with me."

He sighed. "Whatever."

"She's right," Mush noted, and Sophia smiled at him and he grinned back.

"Get a room, you two," Spot muttered.

"Why have we never hung out, Michael?" she asked, ignoring Spot. "We've known each other for...ever."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "You should come to rehearsals too. That would be fun. Because Spot and I get bored waiting for our boys to be done playing."

"And you could paint each other's nails and have ticklefights," Spot said in a high pitched, girly voice, then rolled his eyes at them.

"You're just jealous." Mush tugged at his hair. Spot yelped and swatted at him. "It's okay--I'll share her. She's special.

"I'm special," Sophia agreed.

"Special _needs_," Spot snorted. Race, Dutchy and Blink laughed. Itey looked a little odded out.

"What?" Sophia asked.

"You married _Mush_," Itey said. "I'm such a failure because I'm not gay."

"You're her fuck buddy."

"Shut up, Spot!"

Sophia seemed to get Itey's poutiness, and held his hand and snuggled against him; all the while still planning out the makeover of Spot with Mush.

Spot was planning their demise, and really, even Race couldn't distract him. Dutchy was trying to distract Race, but that wasn't working out quite like he planned. Blink was eating substantial amounts of strawberries and most were fairly disgusted when they saw that if he dipped his finger in melted chocolate, Mush would lick it--or suck it rather suggestively--until it was cleaned off.

They were married that way.

"So I have official permission to come to band practices?" Sophia asked, still looking a little uncomfortable

"We need a chick to show off for."

"Shut it, Dutch," Itey snapped. "Of course you can come. After all, Davey and Jack and Mush and Spot hang around all the time. And you're way more bearable than Spot and Jack are."

"Jack is worse," Spot said.

"Agreed," Race snorted.

"Yeah, his 'sleepover' with Davey will really pay off, huh, Spotty?"

"Eh eh, Blinkee!"

They laughed again and everyone thought it was pretty stupid.

The night wore on, the strawberries were finished, and everyone kept hanging out because it was just _fun_, and somewhere during the middle of it, Race came up next to his sister and gave her hand a squeeze. She simply pecked his cheek and that had been the end of it.

He wondered why he'd been so afraid to tell her. A person always underestimated his loved ones, he supposed, and the extent of how much they'd understand for him.

Spot was also acting different tonight, and Race was very happy and really kind of giddy to realize that they _were_ in love; he hadn't been imagining things, and he _was_ under Spot's skin.

Also, Dutchy was acting funny, so Race figured he was having cravings. Oddly enough, though, when Race tried to cheer him up by telling stupid jokes, Dutchy had seemed more jittery. But Dutchy was fine once he got Mush and Blink griping to each other about baseball again, finally, because really he'd been trying to do that all evening.

It took Race a moment to realize how late it was and where the hell _was_ everyone?

And finally, the door opened; Race winced a little, expecting his parents, but it was only Marco.

"Marco, why do you have a key to our house?" Sophia demanded.

"Because your parents love me." He grinned. "Any good leftovers?"

"Fettuccini in the fridge."

"Cool, thanks." He started to walk away, then paused. "Hey, Sean! What's up?"

Spot gave him a vaguely annoyed look--the presence of family members meant Race was back in the closet. But he shrugged. "Hanging out. You know."

"Right, well, I'll leave you guys to it." And he walked off into the kitchen.

Dutchy gaped after him. "Jesus H. _Christ_, who was the sex god who just walked by?"

Which caused Sophia and Race to spit out their sodas in unison, which made everyone else cackle.

"It's about fucking time someone else saw him." Spot nodded his head. "Because they're all family so I couldn't say a freaking thing."

"Oh GOD ew." Sophia covered her eyes. "God, Anthonyyyyyyy..."

"Now look what you did!" Race went over to his sister and slung an arm around her shoulder. "God, just _no."_

Itey and Blink, who also looked curious, turned to Spot for information, though Itey let Sophia grimace into his arm. Dutchy looked far too enthralled, and Mush looked amused, but then, he'd met Marco a few times before.

"Cousin," Spot explained. "He can't do anything but eat."

Race laughed.

"He really can't," Sophia mused. "He's like... Almost thirty, and never grew out of the college lifestyle. He trips over his own feet and he'd die of malnutrition if he wasn't constantly eating over _here_."

"But he's _hot_," Dutchy objected.

"EW."

"...He kinda was," Blink noted, and Mush nodded.

Itey sighed. "Seriously? Why don't I have any straight friends?"

Sophia grabbed his hand. "_I'm_ straight."

"A_hem_," Race muttered at the two of them, then, "Oooooh, we should introduce Marco to Itey."

"No." Sophia gave him a dark look. "_No_, I swear to god if you say _one word_--"

"MARCO," Race yelled, "c'mere, you wanna meet Sophie's boyfriend?"

"Sophia is not allowed to date, Anthony, that's not funny!" Marco yelled back from the kitchen, and Race grinned.

"You are _so_ dead," Sophia hissed, then, "Marco, you jackass, I'm never baking for you again!"

Marco appeared at the entrance of the living room, holding a plate of fettuccini and what looked like a ridiculously expensive, imported beer. "That seems a little harsh, _Rosetta_." He pouted at her.

Dutchy looked like he was about to start drooling.

"So--" Race started, but Marco swatted him on the head.

"I'm guessing, genius at work." Marco glanced around, eyes landing on Mush, then he seemed to remember Mush was Tony's very gay best friend, and since he was wrapped around Blink still, that let Blink out, too.

He looked to Dutchy. "You, eh? You better not--"

"NO, stupid!" Sophia kicked his leg. "Gabriel!"

Marco turned and looked at Itey, who gave a shy smile. "Hi," Itey said shyly.

Marco snorted. "Bit _small,_ isn't he?"

Spot and Dutchy found that incredibly funny. Or maybe Dutchy was laughing because he was acting kind of like a doofus now that Marco was in the room again.

Itey blushed and ducked his head, and had no real idea how else to respond. Marco went to slap his shoulder playfully, but given the extent to which Itey winced, it clearly was a bit harder than necessary. "Well, look here then, _Gabriel_." He nodded towards Sophia. "She is rich and beautiful and well mannered and smart, and she has a very large, over protective extended family that very much does not want to see her hurt. So watch your back and behave, and there'll be no problem. _Capice_?"

Itey kind of stared at him, and Race tried to bite down a smirk, but failed miserably. And finally Itey nodded, and said in a vaguely frightened voice, "But I was being nice _anyway_! Because I _like_ her!"

"Well, that's good, too. Just, you know." Marco grinned wildly, and Dutchy looked _fascinated_. "We're a _very_ large family." Then he straightened up and stole the last strawberry as Blink reached for it. "I'm guessing I'm too old to hang out with the kids these days, so have fun. I'm gonna go see what else is in the fridge."

"Seriously, you eat five times your weight a day!" Sophia yelled after him. "Jackass!"

He popped back into the room, amused. "I do not. I eat nothing for three or four days, then come here and pig out. Your family's cooking rules."

And then he was gone again. Dutchy sighed a little.

"Oh, screw you," Sophia snapped. Dutchy turned to grin at her.

"Gladly."

And really, who knew Itey could punch so hard? Dutchy sat holding his arm and whimpering for about half an hour afterward.

Blink checked his watch. "It's like, after eleven. We better get going."

"Nah." Race shrugged it off. "We can all sleep in the basement. Serious. Granted, it won't be like _Davey's_ slumber parties..."

"If I'm sleeping here, the rules are NO making out during the night, and if you are, I get Marco," Dutchy said.

"Shut UP."

"And you too, Sophie."

Itey punched him again.

"I'll have to call my parents..." Mush trailed off, and Sophia clicked her tongue at Race.

"I'm not sure we're allowed, dumbass." She shrugged. "You'll have to call _Daddy_ on the cellphone during a _dinner party_." She yawned and slumped against Itey. "And you know how much Daddy hates that."

Mush shuddered.

No one asked.

Race groaned. "Okaaay. Well... I _can_ call him if you guys want me to, or--"

"Wait." Sophia smirked suddenly. "Marco?" she called.

"Whaaaa?" he yelled from the kitchen, his mouth obviously full of something.

She smiled and stood up. "Five minutes and he'll do it for us." She walked off to the kitchen.

Four minutes and forty-nine seconds later, she walked back in. "Marco's on the phone. I _rule_."

"If by 'you rule,' you mean, 'you're frighteningly manipulative,' then yes," Race agreed.

"Hey, it works." She kicked her feet up on the coffee table smugly.

"Pooooooor Itey," Blink commented.

"Poor Itey _nothing_," Dutchy sulked.

Mush sighed. "Tony, can we chip in to get Dutchy a prostitute or something tomorrow? Because he really, really, _really_ needs to get laid."

"Feel free," Dutchy muttered.

Marco called from the kitchen, "It's all cool, kids. Have a good time. And BEHAVE YOURSELVES."

"That wasn't very subtle," Itey sighed. "Your family is _nuts_. I mean, no offense."

"None taken," Sophia said cheerfully. "So people should call home, then. I'll go find some spare blankets." She kissed Itey's cheek. "Back in a few."

Race coughed. "You're sleeping upstairs!"

"I never said I wasn't," was her answer, and really, she left it so open-ended that Itey turned a very, very, ridiculously bright shade of red.

He looked at Race.

Race punched him.

Itey, who suddenly had had enough of being punched and called small, punched Race back. "I didn't _say_ anything."

"You were thinking it." Race glanced at Dutchy, and punched him too. "So were you."

"I was." Dutchy nodded.

"Hey!" Then Itey punched him too.

"I'm gonna go help Sophie," Mush announced, and he hurried out of the room just as Marco re-entered the room with a huge sandwich.

"He's _so_ gay..." Marco mused, then looked at Race. "Is he?"

"Faggy McFag," Spot answered, and Blink let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like 'coughCALLING-KETTLE-BLACKcough'. Marco, being Marco, didn't catch it.

"So, Tony, introduce me to friends."

Race shrugged, and gestured vaguely at Blink. "That's Ryan; Michael's boyfriend."

Blink waved, and grinned. "My boy is _pretty_," he said. "And yes. Very gay."

Marco gave him an odd look, and shrugged. "If you say so." He turned back to Race.

"And you met Gabe, and really--I can't believe I'm saying this--there's no need to threaten his life; he's nice. _Izzy_ approves of him."

"Wow." Marco looked over Itey again. "Well, I guess if Izzy isn't actively planning his death, he's probably okay."

"Right. And Sean you know, and that's Dutchy."

"Ohhhhh." Marco nodded a little. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Uh?" Dutchy said.

"There are no secrets in this family, kid," Marco said sincerely, which caused people to shoot odd looks at Race; luckily, Marco was more oblivious than even Race usually was, and just kept talking. "So yeah, you ever think of doing that shit near my cousin again, and I'll kill you."

"Uh--"

"No, literally. In the 'end your life violently' sense."

Dutchy just gaped.

"Marco," Race muttered. "Unnecessary."

"He went to rehab," Blink added defensively.

"So did Tony." Marco shrugged. "But I'm _certain_ it won't be a _problem_, right, Dutchy?"

Dutchy nodded.

"Good, then." And Marco grinned, and Dutchy was frightened and embarrassed and annoyed all in one, and at the same time still remarkably attracted to Marco. Which was really irritating him, because he was more than certain that Marco had no interest in boys. At all. Even a little bit.

Sometimes, his life _sucked_.

"You're a horny dork," Itey said brightly. Dutchy glared.

"What did I ever do to _you_?"

"You hit on Sophie. Excessively."

"I was _joking_."

"So was _I_."

Marco turned to Race. "Cuz, do you have _any_ straight male friends?"

"Gabe is straight." He shrugged. "Otherwise... Really, I don't think so."

Marco gave him a strange look, then shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, I'm off. The boyfriend is sleeping in a closet."

Blink and Spot laughed again. "See, Itey? In the closet, there you go."

"Shut uuuppp..."

Mush and Sophia re-appeared then, laughing about something, hysterically, and they didn't notice that everyone was staring at them. They composed themselves a moment.

"What's funny?" Race asked.

Sophia and Mush burst out laughing again.

"...Okaaaay," Marco said. "Right, well. Yeah. That one gets locked in a closet, and _you_ sleep upstairs in your room. 'Cause otherwise your parents will throw a royal fit and no one wants that to happen. 'Specially not 'cause they always blame Tony."

"Don't remind me."

"Oh, wow," Blink said. "I kind of want to know what would happen if they blamed you for those two sleeping together."

"Which they never, ever, will," Marco said. "_Right_, Gabriel?"

Itey shot a look at Sophia, who was glaring at Marco, and then answered, "Not unless we get married. Promise."

"Okay, then."

"Gabriel," Sophia snapped.

"What?" he squeaked.

"You're stupid." She sighed. "Only Mushee understands me."

Mush put an arm around her, and Blink looked kind of at a loss for words, and eventually settled on just pouting slightly. "It's a good thing I _know_ you're attracted to boys, Michael Meyers," he whined.

"Awww. He's jealous. That's cute," Sophia noted.

"I know; gotta love him, huh?" Mush shot a smile at Blink, who smiled back.

Marco gave them an odd look. "Okay. Well, that's... lovely."

"Marco, don't be homophobic and stupid," Sophia snapped.

"I'm not homophobic, I'm sheltered." He grinned, and Dutchy's heart practically skipped a beat. He had a _nice_ grin. "There's a difference."

"You're an ass," Race said.

"And you're a cokehead. I'm gonna go crash for the night. It might seem early to you kids, but for those of us with _jobs_..."

"Working at your daddy's company?" Sophia mocked.

Marco glared at her, then shrugged a little. "Shut up," he said cheerfully. "Well, it was nice meeting you all. I'm crashing in my usual room." And he left; Marco spent the night often enough that Race and Sophia knew which guest room was his usual, and weren't surprised that he didn't bother to ask if anyone minded.

Dutchy made the same sighing noise. "I... don't suppose he sleeps naked with his door unlocked?"

"EW."

Sophia yawned. "We ought to all head to bed, actually," she sighed. "Tony and I have church in the morning, which pretty much means we have to kick you out earlyish."

"Which sucks," Blink said. "Sundays are for sleeping in."

"Not when your parents are strictly religious," Race muttered, slightly bitter.

Sophia gave him a strange look. "Tony, do you confess?"

"Not about what you're wondering about, no."

"Okay."

"Sophia, it's not a sin."

"I didn't say it was, _fratello_. Hey, I'm getting ready for bed; I call the upstairs bathroom. So I'll come say goodnight in a bit. Tony, go make up beds for everyone downstairs."

He nodded and led the way down to the rec room, the same one where Spot had spent the night. The couch opened out into a bed for two (immediately claimed by Mush and Blink) and there was a futon folded in a huge closet which was also downstairs; Dutchy and Itey volunteered to use it.

"The closet's big enough for you to sleep in, though, Itey," Race pointed out.

Itey smacked him upside the head, though not hard. "I'll take my chances with Dutchy, thanks."

"I dunno, the way he's acting tonight he'll probably molest you."

"Oh, definitely." Dutchy lipped his licks suggestively.

Itey raised an eyebrow. "You know, I think my girlfriend would be a bit upset about that. And I wouldn't want to risk her wrath if I was you. She's _scary_."

"So we know who wears the pants in that relationship," Blink laughed.

"Hush, sweetie," Mush murmured, and kissed Blink's cheek. Blink nodded a little and fell silent.

Everyone else in the room sniggered.

There weren't any other convenient mattresses, but there were certainly enough comforters to fold up and sleep on top of that Spot and Race wouldn't be lacking in the comfort area, as Race had decided to crash with his friends instead of in his room.

He really just wanted to set up one place for himself and Spot. _Really_ wanted to. But his parents would almost definitely at least check on them, which kind of was a problem, so, reluctantly, he left a few feet between the makeshift beds.

About the time he was finishing handing out pillows, Sophia walked downstairs. She was wearing her hoodie and ducky pajamas, and Itey sighed softly. "G'night," she said, suddenly feeling a little shy. "It was... Fun."

Everyone waved or mumbled goodnight to her, except Itey, who stood and walked over to her. "You... Want a goodnight kiss?" he murmured soft enough so that no one but her could really hear it.

She nodded.

So he kissed her. Her breath tasted like toothpaste, and she wrapped her arms around him and stepped back so she was against the wall and he just kept kissing her, because with her pajamas on and her usual slight attitude missing, she was no longer quite so intimidating.

"A_HEM_."

Itey made an obscene gesture at Race, and a few seconds later broke off the kiss. "...Wow," she said.

He smiled. "Sleep well. Sweet dreams."

She nodded, a little starry-eyed. "Goodnight, Gabe," she sighed happily, and practically floated up the stairs.

Itey turned around, sat on his mattress, and grinned at Dutchy. "Well, _I'm_ going to bed. You can have the extra pillow, it'll be the only thing you sleep with until you're about forty."

Dutchy took the pillow and belted Itey over the head with it.

"You're a sex machine, Itey," Spot said in a monotone voice while reading through some random George Orwell book he'd found in one of the bookshelves in the main room.

"You know how to _read_?" Mush asked sleepily.

Spot mumbled something about muzzles.

Blink was already asleep, and Itey and Dutchy really seemed kind of hyper. Spot was acting oddly silent, and Race prodded his stomach. Spot glanced up at him.

"What?"

"Why are you ignoring me?"

"Because if I get a hard on now, when I have to sleep next to you for the rest of the night, it won't be pretty." Spot reconsidered. "Well, no, I'm always pretty, but it'd make Blink and Mush and Itey all twitchy."

"Dutchy'd like it."

"Fucker."

_"I'd_ like it."

Spot grinned, and Race leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. Spot pulled away just as Race started slipping in some tongue.

"Hard on."

"You have no restraint."

"I'm healthy."

"So am I, then!" Dutchy piped up, eavesdropping.

"No." Spot shook his head. "You're not."

"HAH," Itey snorted.

Maybe it was something the little Mexican ate.

Race sighed. "Well, then, I'm going to sleep. Because when I fall asleep in church, I get grounded. And I just got a new car and I'd hate to lose my driving privilege."

"Don't lose that," Spot agreed. "'Cause we're so having sex in your car."

"Spot..."

"What? When you're ready. Your car is hot. Now go to bed; I'm reading."

"Turn out the light when you're done."

"Yeah, yeah." Spot paused, then kissed Race once more, then went back to his book. Race smiled and watched him read for a minute, a little surprised because Spot didn't seem like the reading type (but not totally shocked because Spot didn't seem like the WRITING type either, and yet he was remarkably good at it). And Race drifted off with Spot in his mind, and the taste of Spot in his mouth, and the only way it could have been more pleasant would have been if Spot was actually in his arms.

*

F: WOOWWW, a big emotional part. Sophia and Itey are cute. I squeal at the thought of them.

B: You do that anyway.

F:...yeah. I do. ::holds up Itey flag::

B: Funny, the rest of us thought Race coming out to his sister was the important bit... ah, well. Whatever floats your boat, dear.

F: ::floats away on a cloud thinking of Itey::

B: ANYway, we hope you enjoyed the super long chapter (to make up for the lack of updates). The next one isn't quite so long, but it is... important.... ::cackles madly::

F: Ooooohh, boy. To think... TONY DIES.

B: AHAHAHAHAHAHA... well... not really. But SO CLOSE.

F: And there's a...when suddenly he...and then a...

B: Ohhhhh, it'll be awesome.

Celebrated with hot chocolate, to commemorate closing night of Funkie's show of awesomeness.


	19. Losing Control

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things  
We can do the tango just for two  
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings  
Be your Valentino just for you  
Ooh love, ooh loverboy  
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy,  
Set my alarm, turn on my charm  
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned loverboy  
Ooh let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster)  
Ooh ooh let me feel your love heat  
Come on and sit on my hot-seat of love  
And tell me how do you feel right after all  
I'd like for you and I to go romancing  
Say the word, your wish is my command  
-Queen, _Good Old Fashioned Loverboy_

**_Chapter 19: Losing Control_**

Race awoke to being kicked.

Oddly enough, it was a familiar kick, and after a moment, knew that it was Maria who was kicking him awake.

His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Maria pushing her foot into his stomach, and he grabbed her leg, letting out a fake roar. Maria giggled, and hopped on one foot as Race threw her over his shoulder gently and broke her fall on a pile of pillows.

"_Carina_," he greeted. Maria was still laughing. He looked around. "Where's..."

"_Rosetta_ and Gabriel are in her room kissing. I saw. They woke up early." Maria brought her voice down. "She came downstairs and woke everyone up and everything."

Though Race knew that Itey and Sophia probably wanted to be alone, he was glad she woke them up before his mother or father; she'd obviously done it to make sure none of the boys were found in any compromising situations.

Speaking of which, Dutchy had slept in briefs...

He glanced to the side, where Dutchy was sitting up, and made a face. "Ught, Dutch. Boxers. _Boxers_. Put on _pants_."

Maria followed his gaze, and kind of stared, then her face turned scarlet and she turned back to Race. He decided to be amused instead of horrified. "See? Boys are gross, which is why you never want to date."

"You keep telling yourself that, Tony," Mush mumbled sleepily.

"Where's Spot? ...Sean?" Race asked.

"Making coffee with Marco."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, 'cause he woke up first and Marco was just staring at the coffeemaker sadly, Sean said. 'Cause he couldn't figure out how to work it."

"That's just _sad_," Blink said, finally sitting up himself.

"It's _Marco_," Race said, and Maria giggled. Race kissed her forehead. "We'll be up in a few minutes, all right?"

"Okay." She jumped to her feet and kicked him again, then dashed off and upstairs before he could react.

Race grinned and Blink snorted. "You two are like...a TV show brother/sister thing. It's annoying. Stop being like a movie."

"Not my fault I'm awesome."

"Not his fault." Dutchy batted his eye lashes at Blink, who threw a pillow at him. "Your boyfriend wakes up too early," Dutchy said to Race. Race smiled.

"I know, it's cute."

Dutchy pouted; that hadn't been the response he was looking for.

"Tony..." Mush said sleepily. "Do you have that history essay due Monday on you?"

"Yeah."

"Can you help me out? I suck."

Race snorted. "You owe me two pages of Chem."

"I'll so give them to you."

Race shrugged. "Like I could say no. Yeah, I just need to find my binder."

"TONY!" Sophia yelled from upstairs. "Tell your friends breakfast is ready!"

Race glanced around the room. "So, breakfast is ready."

"Heard that," Dutchy said. "Will it be good?"

"Dude, my _mom_ cooked it."

"...And?"

"She taught me and my sisters to cook. So yes, it'll be good." He pushed himself up into a standing position. "So let's go eat."

* * *

"Dude, I can't find my binder," Race whined.

"So where'd you last see it?" Spot asked into the phone, as Race had called him right after they got home from church.

"How the hell should I know? If I knew, it wouldn't be _lost_."

"It's probably in your room somewhere."

"My room is _spotless_. If it was here I'd be able to find it!"

"So? Chill. It's just a binder."

"It's all of my history notes!"

"You're _good_ at history."

"Yeah, but I promised Mush he could look at my essay and I've got all the info for my research paper in it... Fuck, I need to find it."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Great, remind me to never call you for sympathy again."

"Duh."

"Okay, I'll re-trace my steps..."

"You _do_ that."

Race ignored the tone in his voice. Spot was such a cranky little bitch. "Okay, so I had it when I was... oh fuck."

"Fuck me?"

"NO. Fuck that I forgot my binder at Blink's!" Race bit his nail. "I'll have to go to his place."

"He sure is away tonight." Spot coughed. "Spending the night at Mush's."

"They're having sex?"

"They HAD sex already."

"..._WHAT?_ When?"

"Friday. Blink's dad was out of town, Mush spent the night... And, you know, _baw chic-a baw-ow_." Spot's attempt at porn music was quite amusing.

"Wow. I can't believe Mush lost his virginity," Race said, then, "I can't believe he lost it before _I_ did! I was so supposed to score first."

"...You know, I did offer."

"Shut up, Spot."

"I'm just sayin'."

"Shit. So he's at Mush's, but I fucking _need_ that thing..."

"So? It ain't like Blink's door is hard to open." Spot paused. "Come over here for dinner, we'll order in instead of making you cook this time. We'll drop by Blink's and you can grab your binder."

"Drop by? You mean break in?"

"It only counts as breaking in if it's _locked_. And seriously, I can get through the lock if you need your stuff that bad."

"...You can pick a lock."

"Yeah; I went through this whole vandal phase a few years ago."

"Great. So now you're a criminal."

"YOU should talk, Mafia Boy."

"Spot..."

"Yeah, not funny, I know. Still. Come over."

Race sighed. "Yeah. Okay."

"Jack isn't here, by the way. He and Sarah are having sex off in Jack's van."

"Ew."

"I know." Spot made a retching noise. "So, ride over, I'll tell Denise. Oh, and just so you know, we're watching movies."

"What movies?"

_"Godfather."_

"You fucker."

"I know. I thought you'd like that."

"Serious, if your house was bugged, you'd--"

"I was joking, you fucking Italian!" Spot snorted. "_James Bond_, for fuck's sake."

Race pouted. "You're mean."

"I'm sexually frustrated. Your fault."

Race bit back his first reaction, which would have totally given them away, and instead settled on the non-incriminating, "It is _not,_ you fucker. I can't help it if you get horny whenever I'm around."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Ha," Race snorted, then, "I'll go ask my dad about going to your place."

"Yeah, you do that."

"Spot, don't be a bitch." Race sighed. "See you soon, with any luck. _Ciao_."

"...Yeah. _Ciao_." The Italian sounded weird coming from Spot, who added, "Bye," because it just didn't feel quite right.

Race chuckled as he hung up, slipped his cell into his pocket and grabbed his car keys. His parents were in the living room, his father reading a paper and his mother reading a novel in Italian.

"Hey, uh, Dad?" he asked.

"Hmmm?" came the reply, though his father didn't look away from the paper.

"Can I go to Sean's for dinner?"

"You and Sean spend an awful lot of time together, Racetrack."

"Well... Yeah. He's my friend." Race shrugged. "I left my bag at Ryan's house after rehearsal, I need to go pick it up so I can do my homework." Because it was true, but more importantly, school was a viable excuse for almost anything.

"Be back by ten."

Race grinned. "I will. 'Night, Dad, Mama." He half-waved and walked out to his car.

* * *

"Denise is wrong," were Spot's first words when he opened the door.

Race blinked. "About what?"

"Who's better, Pierce Brosnan, or Sean Connery?"

"Neither."

Spot stared. "Get the fuck away."

Race rolled his eyes and pushed past him. "What are we eating?"

"Chinese."

"You eat anything?"

"I ate a piece of squid."

"You ate HALF a piece of squid!" Denise called from the living room as Race and Spot walked into it. "He'll eat more, give him awhile. _James Bond_ makes him hungry."

Spot rolled his eyes as Race dug in, much like he was part of the family. Denise smirked.

"Oh, help yourself."

Race blushed. "Geeze, sorry, I--"

"Don't have a hernia, kid." Denise laughed. "But that dumpling is mine. Hands off."

Race made a face at her and ate it.

She made a face back and slapped his hand hard enough to sting. "Brat," she accused.

He shook out his hand. "It was worth it," he declared, then to Spot, "So, binder or Bond first? Since you're done eating _already_."

Spot glared at him and took a forkful of rice.

"Awwww, I'm so proud," Denise cooed.

Spot flung the rice at her.

"SEAN!" She swatted at him a little.

"Binder," Spot said. "Then we can settle in for a moviethon. How was church?"

"Boring."

"Fall asleep?"

"Well, I'm not grounded, am I?" Race rolled his eyes and helped himself to more food.

And Denise mused, "Does it bother you, Tony? Your family being religious and them... Not knowing about you and Sean?"

"Yes; and yes, but two of the three sisters know."

"You should tell your parents."

"I don't _think_ so." He shook his head. "That would not go well."

"Maybe not, but wouldn't you rather get it over with?"

Race shot a look at Spot, then said, "Nah. Besides, the whole secret thing makes it even hotter."

"You sweet talker, you," Spot answered sarcastically.

Denise made a face. "Ugh. Not around me. Sean." She looked over at him, and Spot raised an eyebrow. "Please be a gentleman."

Race laughed. "Yeah, Spotty, be a _gentleman_."

"Only if you're less of a girl," Spot shot back, and walked out of the living room. Denise winked at Race.

"You two hurry back, have fun."

Race nodded, and then quickly grabbed the three remaining spring rolls and hurried out of the living room. Denise yelled after him.

Spot was waiting by the front door. "My mom thinks you're a brat."

Race paled. "She does?"

"No, kidding, idiot."

Race nodded, then looked oddly at Spot. "You just called Denise your mom."

Spot looked at him as he put on his shoes. Spot cleared his throat. "Whatever," he shrugged, and walked out the door.

Race rolled his eyes and followed. "Bye Denise!" he called out.

She replied with a muffled, "BRAT"

He laughed and shut the door behind him, and he very much wanted to grab Spot's hand as they walked the block to Blink's house, but... They had no way of knowing if they were being watched. So he didn't.

Sure enough, no one was home at Blink's house, and the garage door was shut. But the front door was unlocked, so Spot let them in. It was kind of creepy, walking through Blink's empty house in the dark, and the garage seemed... Odd, without anyone there.

Race flicked on the light and glanced around. "Yeah, I don't see it."

"Well, _look_ for it."

"I'm _going_ to. Help me." He snickered. "Maybe we'll finally find your shirt."

"Ooh, yeah. I want that back. I only have, like, four of them..."

"Okay, that's it. I'm taking you shopping next weekend."

"I'm _broke_, dumbass."

"Yeah, but _I'm_ not." He kissed Spot quickly. "Dating a spoiled rich kid has a few advantages."

"It sure would be nice if having sex in the backseat of your Lexus was one of them."

"You just keep fantasizing, Spot." Race laughed. "Really, though... I mean, _Mush_ lost his virginity..."

Spot rolled his eyes. "Let's find your binder and go fuck."

"Spot."

"Fine. Let's find your binder and go make out while Denise drools over Sean Connery."

"That sounds fun." Race smiled a little, and really, he realized, he wouldn't have _minded_ doing more than making out. A little more, anyway... But it was probably for the best that he didn't mention that to Spot, who still seemed impossibly horny.

Race glanced around, looking behind the couch, and close to the drumset because he figured he might have left it down by the bass drum. He was about to check until he heard Spot let out an amused growl kind of laugh.

"I found something."

"Was this something my binder?" Race replied, looking down at the floor.

"It's _better_."

"Better than my binder?"

"Shut up, you'll like it."

"I'd like my binder."

Spot kicked his leg and Race winced, and jerked his head up, causing it to bang on the cymbal. A loud crash echoed through out the garage, along with Spot's laughs.

Race rubbed his head and turned around to glare at him. "You big ass--what the hell is in your hand?"

Spot grinned. "Condoms!"

"WHAT?"

"Blink's stash." Spot began laughing. "Seriously, under the couch there's a bag of... condoms and lube and... oh Christ."

"What?"

"Handcuffs."

"Oh my Godddddddd, that's... Not something I want to think about..." Race shuddered. "Right. Mush is innocent, Mush is innocent, Mush is--"

"Blink's not." Spot was still laughing. "Handcuffs and--"

"NO MORE. I do NOT want to know anything else about their sex life!"

"I do." He paused. "But that's what study hall is for."

"I can not believe that you're looking through Blink's sex stash." He paused. "Porno mags?"

"Duh."

"He's predictable."

"And a co--"

"Don't want to know!"

Spot looked up at him, almost quizzically. "...Do you think they have sex in _here_?" he asked.

And Race shuddered. "I don't want to knooooooow."

"This is some sort of cruel twist of fate," Spot muttered. Race sighed.

"What's that mean?"

Spot turned to him, and suddenly they were standing close and Race was feeling way more turned on than was healthy. "It means that everything is where it's supposed to be. That's all." Spot shrugged. "Your call--"

"Spot, I can't just decide in two seconds because there just _happens_ to be some condoms and lube and...THINGS lying around Blink's garage." He paused. "Where we're alone."

Spot shrugged and didn't say anything else. He just went back to looking through the sex stash.

Race bit his lip. "I feel dirty."

"I can make you feel dirtier."

Race glared. "Spot, cut it out."

"Do you want me to?"

"Do I want you to _what_?"

"Cut it out," Spot said. "Either that or I could throw you down on the couch and then--"

"Shut up!"

"Well, you know. I could." Spot sighed. "Okay, fine, shutting up now. Let's find your damn binder."

Race nodded, and Spot set down the condoms.

And Race muttered, "_Handcuffs_. I'm never gonna be able to look at him again."

"Found your binder."

"Where?" Race demanded.

"It's under the sex bag." He paused, then cackled, "They had SEX on your BINDER. It's got Mush and Blink allll over--"

"IT DOES NOT."

"But it _could_. Look."

Race looked, and sure enough, the bag was lying directly on top of his binder, and he could now see the handcuffs Spot had alluded to and shuddered. "EW, the fuckers had sex on my BINDER."

"We could always get revenge by having sex on Blink's couch."

"SPOT."

"Yeah, shutting up."

Race paused. "Denise is home."

"Yeah?"

"And you said Jack would be home in, like, an hour."

"...Yeah?"

"Well. We could always just make out on their couch. I mean... You know, 'cause there's people in your house and we're alone here." He shrugged.

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Okay."

"...And we can see where it goes from there." Race smirked.

"Tony, don't _tease_ me."

"I sure will if I want to."

"Yeah?" Spot answered, and grabbed Race's wrist. "Two can play at that game." He dragged Race up off the floor, and as per his earlier comment, shoved him down on the couch.

Race kissed him eagerly. He couldn't believe it had been so long since they'd had a chance to touch each other. Standing next to someone he loved as much as he did Spot, and not being able to touch him whenever he wanted, was almost some kind of torture.

Spot was being rougher than usual, but in an oddly deep kind of way. Race didn't really know how to describe it.

Except when Spot bit his lip. Then Race kneed him in the stomach. Spot pulled back, grinning.

"Did I say you could stop?" Race asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do I have to?"

Race let the question linger in the air. He bit his lip, tasting Spot on his mouth. "We'll see."

Spot just kissed him again, and grabbed hard at Race's crotch.

Race inhaled sharply and groaned, and realized just how badly he wanted Spot's touch, and apparently the gasp and groan were enough that Spot realized it too. His hand began to slide up and down the outside of Race's jeans, and Race's facial expression went oddly euphoric.

Or maybe it wasn't so odd.

"Should I stop?" Spot murmured.

"Not if you ever want me to talk Italian to you again."

"Do it," Spot answered, and Race obliged with a few barely coherent sentences. Spot didn't know what they meant, and Race barely knew what he was saying.

He stopped talking abruptly when Spot's hand slipped _under_ his jeans, and his eyes went wide. Spot looked at him with a little concern. "Is it--okay?" he asked.

And in a split second, Race's mind was made up. He nodded, and Spot unbuttoned Race's pants as Race tried to pull Spot's shirt off. Both couldn't happen at once, and Race's belt was being a pain, so Spot waited until he'd shrugged the t-shirt off to get back to work on the buttons.

Race could feel himself blushing, but somehow, that didn't matter. He kicked his jeans off and Spot pulled at his shirt, and Race nodded a little and just wanted to get the undressing _over_ with because it was awkward and there were many other things he wanted to be doing.

But then he saw that Spot was working his way out of his own pants, and really, that was too hot to be awkward.

Then Spot was kissing his mouth again, hungrily, and with that Spot edge. Then he bit at his neck, his shoulder, slowly trailing kisses down Race's stomach. Race started to pant slightly, as Spot continued trailing kisses down past his pelvis, and...

And a few moments later was panting heavily and clutching at the cushions on the carpet, moaning loudly, but hardly able to tell because he felt as if he wasn't awake, he was in an amazing and perfect dream.

Then Race moaned again loudly, and Spot was sitting slightly on top of him, grinning, looking so goddamned cocky and proud that Race just wanted to show him up more than anything.

But he was so goddamned worn out, and he'd barely done anything.

"Oh... Oh my _god_..." Race managed to mumble between heavy breaths.

Spot raised an eyebrow. "I'm good at head, but I'm not quite a _god_."

"You're amazing..."

"You look a little worn out there, _Midgito_."

"I wanna..." Race leaned back against the couch. "I wanna get you off."

"Okay." Spot smirked a little. "What? You think I'm gonna argue with you?"

Race smiled, but Race didn't seem quite capable of anything BUT smiling right then. "I've never... You know, gone down on a guy or... Or anything."

"_Virgin_." But Spot was smiling.

"I thought you were gonna fix that."

And for a change, it was _Spot_ who was caught off-guard, and after a moment of him just _staring_ at Race, he said, "You... You want me to?"

And Race nodded sincerely. So Spot kissed him quickly on the lips and declared, "You're the best boyfriend EVER." Then he nudged Race's shoulder, a cue for him to roll over, while he rummaged around on the floor for the bag of Blink's stash.

Race didn't move for a second, he just watched Spot fiddle around with the bag on the floor. "Where the hell're..."

"Spot?"

"Yeah?" he said distractedly.

"I love you."

Spot stopped looking, glanced up at him.

And then Race was caught off guard because Spot actually smiled. Not one of his mean smirks, or the sexy grin or anything like, an actual smile, and he was so goddamned gorgeous that Race could hardly stand it.

"I..." he stopped. It was funny. The first to admit it and yet he had the most trouble saying it. "...love you too."

Then he dived back down, looking for supplies, and when he re-emerged, saw Race still hadn't rolled over.

He bit his lip.

"Tony," he said seriously. "You sure you wanna do this?"

Race looked down at the floor for a second, blushing, and answer, "Sean, I want you more than anything right now."

"Well, in THAT case." Spot nudged him again and he rolled over, and Spot kissed the back of his neck, traced his hands down Race's incredibly well-muscled back, and groped for a condom and lube. There was a short, awkward moment of preparation, and Race shuddered a little at the cool, slippery feeling of the lube against his skin, and then...

Then it was Spot, and it was him, and there were no real words to describe it. He heard himself groaning, talking in Italian, heard Spot's moans match his own and felt himself responding to Spot's touch, Spot's presence...

He never wanted it to end, but at the same time, when it did he wasn't disappointed. He turned his head and looked into Spot's eyes. "_Ti amo,_ Sean," he said quietly.

"...What you said." Because now, Spot was at least as exhausted as he was, and almost covered in sweat. But somehow he made it look _hot_. Though really, Race didn't think Spot could ever be anything _but_ hot.

Then they lay there, Spot holding him, Race leaning back into his body and taking in his scent.

"That was amazing, Sean."

"You're amazing," was Spot's mumbled reply, and Race smiled, kind of giddily, because Spot was _his_ and no one else's and he almost felt as if it would always be that way.

And everything was lovely and amazing and then Race's cell phone rang from his pocket.

"Fuck it," Spot mumbled. "Let it ring."

Race hesitated. "I shouldn't."

"Tonyyyy...."

"Spot, if it's my dad and I _don't_ answer it, I'll be grounded until I _die_."

Spot didn't want to admit that he was right. But, he was right. So he just sighed a little, and Race forced himself to move and dug the phone out of his pants pocket. A quick glance at the display showed that it was someone calling from his house. He wanted to groan, but instead just answered, "_Ciao_."

"Anthony Paulo Higgins; you will come home now."

Race's eyes went wide, but he forced himself not to jump to conclusions. "Dad, what's going on?"

"You will come home _now_."

And that was definitely not good. Because that wasn't the 'you're past curfew and I'm pissed voice'; it wasn't even the 'you're spending a month in rehab whether you want to or NOT' voice. It was totally blank.

And that was much, much worse.

His father hung up, and Race slowly turned to look at Spot.

"What?" Spot asked.

"That was dad."

"Yeah? So?"

"So he sounds pissed."

"What else is--"

"No." Race shook his head. "Like 'you did cocaine' pissed. Like, 'you disgraced the family' pissed."

Spot didn't say anything. "But..." he mumbled, after a long moment of silence. "How could...that doesn't mean he..."

"What...what if we're being bugged..." Race said in a breathy voice. "Shit, come on, come on, get dressed!"

And soon they were rushing around, throwing their clothes back on and Race was rushing out of Blink's house clutching his binder, Spot following, and they both ran all the way back to Spot's. Race hurried into the car, and shook his head when Spot let himself in the passenger seat.

"No, go home," he snapped. Spot stared.

"What? No, I'm going with you."

"He'll kill you."

"I don't care."

"_I_ do!"

"I'm not gonna let you go back there alone. You can't _stop_ me, Tony." Spot shook his head. "So don't try."

"Spot, I mean it. If he knows, he might actually kill you." Race gave him a sincere look, barely masking his nerves. "You've seen him, you've _seen_ him..."

"I'm not letting you go alone," Spot said again.

"Spot--"

But his cell was ringing again, and he didn't have a chance to say a single word before his father's voice snarled, "Did you forget how the ignition works, Anthony? Home _now_."

And the line went dead.

And Race stared at his phone for a second, then actually _screamed_ and hurled it at the pavement on the driveway, and it hit with a satisfying smashing sound and Race doubted it would ring again, because it wasn't that in tact.

"Tony--"

"He fucking KNOWS, someone's watching us NOW." He slammed his fist against steering wheel and yelled, "God FUCKING DAMN IT."

Spot took hold of his wrist, and Race just turned to stare at him and they didn't say anything while they stared at each other.

"If you come, you have to promise you won't say anything that'll get you killed."

"Too much to hope for, Tony."

"Promise."

"Start the car."

And then it was another staring contest until Spot started the car for him. And they drove off.

* * *

Ten minutes from Race's house, he was shaking so badly he wasn't safe to drive anymore, and Spot made him pull over to switch places. Spot wanted to make a joke about finally getting to drive the car, but could see how little good it would do; nothing was going to lighten the mood. And Spot couldn't help but remembering how homophobic Race's father was, and that his father carried a gun with him.

A plain black van pulled up behind them, and Race shuddered a little.

A block from Race's house, Spot pulled over again, and the van paused, too. Spot leaned over and kissed Race quickly, no longer caring that they were being watched--it was too late for that. "You'll always have me," he mumbled. "No matter what, Tony, okay? You'll _always_ have me."

"I love you."

Spot looked him in the eye. "I love you, too." For a change he didn't have a hard time saying it. And a block later he parked the car in Race's driveway, and Race was barely able to walk. Spot put a hand on his back for support, to keep him from falling, but he stumbled as it was. It felt like a ridiculously long distance to the door; the screen was shut but the solid door behind it was open, and looming just behind that was Paulo Higgins.

"We are so fucked," Race mumbled.

"You sure were, and it was fun," Spot answered, and defiantly grabbed Race's hand. Because if they were caught, he wasn't going to hide anymore; and if Race's dad was going to kill him, he wasn't going without a fight.

Race opened the screen door and before he could even step inside, Paulo Higgins's hand grabbed his collar, _hauled_ him inside, and slammed him into the wall. Spot lost his grip on Race's hand, but only for a second. He wasn't going to let Race go through this alone, and he stepped up next to Race, back against the wall.

For a long second no one spoke, and finally Mr. Higgins snarled at his son, "How fucking DARE you bring that piece of shit faggot into my house?"

"Dad--"

Mr. Higgins's hand cracked against his son's face and Race's skull slammed back into the wall from the impact, and for a second he looked dazed, his eyes not quite focused. But he recovered fast and tried to react, but Spot beat him to it.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" Spot yelled, without even meaning to. "If you're gonna beat the shit out of someone, it's _me_, goddamn it. I fucking turned your son _gay_."

He knew exactly what was going to happen, but couldn't bring himself to care. So he didn't flinch when a moment later he found himself staring up the barrel of Mr. Higgins's gun.

"DAD!" Race yelled and started forward, shoved his father, who pushed him away easily. His arm didn't even waver. If the gun hadn't been leveled at his forehead, Spot might even have been impressed.

"I gave you a chance to save yourself," Mr. Higgins said coldly. "You brought this on your_self_."

"Fuck you," Spot spat back.

"Dad!" Race yelled. "Dad, _stop_!"

Spot just stared hard at Mr. Higgins, biting his bottom lip, not saying anything, and Race stepped over and stood slightly in front of Spot, shaking his head.

"If you fucking touch him..." Race's voice wavered slightly.

"He doesn't deserve to live."

"Neither do you!" Spot snapped back. "You fucking _prick_! You don't know a goddamned thing about one person in your family!"

Race elbowed Spot hard in the ribs.

The gun went off then, but it shot out a light because Mr. Higgins had aimed for the ceiling.

"Get out."

Spot glared.

"Get. Out." He lowered the gun, back into a position where Spot was clearly the target. "Marco will escort you home."

"Marco?" Race demanded, but his father ignored him and just grabbed Spot's arm, opened the screen door and shoved. The screen door snapped shut behind Spot, and then Mr. Higgins shut the inner door as well, and Spot was gone from Race's view.

Spot was _gone_.

Race swallowed hard and stared at his father. "What do you mean 'escort him home'?" he said. "What's Marco going to do to him?"

"Marco is a member of this _Family_," Mr. Higgins answered. "He has his family duties. As do _you."_ He still hadn't put his gun away. "And you will never, _ever_ see those _people_ again." He spat the word _people_ so darkly that it sounded worse than any insult would have.

"You can't--"

And then Race was slammed back into the wall. "You are in NO position to dictate what I can and can not do." His father glared down at him. "You will be changing schools; furthermore--"

"NO!" Race yelled. "No, you can not fucking DO THAT!" He shoved his father's hand off of his shoulder. "Sean and I--"

"Sean is nothing," his father said, leaning down, glaring directly into Race's face. "Sean _never happened."_

And Race answered, "Sean had _better_ get home safely, _sir_."

"You don't have the right to talk to me like an equal, boy!" Mr. Higgins snapped, pushing Race further into the wall. "You _dare_ bring that... _fag_ into this household? Near Maria?"

"He's not a disease!"

"He might as well be!" he yelled. "And YOU. You disgrace me, more than you _ever_ have, by going along with it. You... you're a junkie and a mess, and a slob and you dare to let that pervert _touch_ you?"

"It's not like I CHOSE to be gay!"

"You're _not_ gay."

"Yes I am!"

"You're. Not. Gay."

"I'M A FAG, DAD!" Race yelled, not caring that everyone, anyone could hear. Not caring about anything. "And as much as I wish it, I'm NOT one just to spite you!"

His father took a second to react to that, and did the one thing that Race truly never believed he would. No matter how much he and his dad fought, no matter how much they hated each other, he'd _never_ expected to see his father level a gun at him. And yet, there he was, shoved up against the wall, his father's lower arm pressed to his chest so he couldn't move, and his father's gun inches from his temple.

He wasn't sure, but he thought his heart might have stopped beating for a second.

And finally, his father spoke. It wasn't a yell, but his voice was definitely _dangerous_. "Listen to me _very carefully_, Anthony. For years you have been a--nothing but a drain on this family. Useless, uninterested in the family business, and then addicted to drugs, and ALL of this I have accepted. But if you wish to continue to live in _my_ house, as part of _my_ family, you will never, _ever_ touch another _boy_. Is that understood?"

And Race took a deep breath and answered in a voice which was forced calm, "Then maybe I don't want to _be_ in your family."

His father shoved the gun against his head. _"Is that understood?"_ he snarled, the calm facade dropping.

Race's mouth reacted before his brain did. It was odd; it felt like he was listening to someone else yell. "NO! Go ahead and fucking SHOOT ME if I'm such a drain--I never fucking ASKED to be in this family, I never WANTED to be part of it! I'm a fucking gay cokehead and I don't deserve to live so _go ahead and do it_!"

Then there was another silence and finally, to Race's astonishment, his father backed away and lowered the gun.

They stared at each other.

"Do you expect me to do that?" Mr. Higgins asked, and carefully put the gun away.

Race glared. "You were about to."

"You listen to me, BOY." His voice had something else in it now. Something Race couldn't understand. "Families stay together, and families don't back out and leave, and I won't let you fall victim to a perverted faggot."

Race almost wanted to hear what his father was trying to say. _Almost._ But he couldn't, because Spot loved him, and his father didn't.

"You're not my family."

"What?" his father demanded, and repeated, "What the _hell_ did you say?"

"I said you're not my family." Race stared at his father, like it was the first time they'd actually looked at each other in years. He felt shaky, like if he wasn't leaning on the wall he'd probably collapse. "You're nothing but a fucking bigot." His mouth kept working, even though his brain felt like it had shut off. "And nothing matters to you but your fucking _business_ and you think _I'm_ the perverted one? You fucking KILL PEOPLE and you look down at me for being _gay_? You're so--I fucking HATE you. I fucking _hate you_!"

Well. That had been coming for a long time, even if he didn't realize he'd said it until after it was too late to take back.

He expected his father to shoot him or punch him or do _something_.

But he didn't.

They just sort of let the silence seep into them for a long time. And then he saw some sort of expression form on his father's face. An expression he knew well because it was always _his_ before this.

It was trying so hard, but eventually, fucking up.

"Then leave."

And that was all he said.

So Race bit his lip, wiped his eyes, and started for the stairs. Because he couldn't take any of this anymore.

And when he saw Maria on the top of the stairwell, he felt everything start to collapse. She was looking at him like he was dead, almost. Like he was leaving and would never come back and it was one of those things that parents would never talk about again.

He wouldn't let Maria be sad. She deserved to be happy more than anything, and because he'd be gone and she could finally have a normal life for a change. Without her fucked up, cokehead, homosexual older brother.

So the first thing he did was hug her tight, tight enough that in any other situation she'd have squeaked that she couldn't breathe. But it wasn't any other situation, and she hugged him back just as fiercely, and by the time he let go he could see her struggling not to cry.

"Maria..." he mumbled, and started walking towards his room, his hand on her shoulder. He had to pack.

Christ. He had to pack so he could leave. And he wouldn't be coming back. For a second he felt dizzy and if Maria hadn't been there he suspected he'd have broken down entirely, but damned if he'd break down in front of his sister.

She sat on his bed and he found the large suitcase he kept in his closet. He didn't know what to say.

"Tony," she snuffled. "Tony, do you--do you have to go?"

"I do."

"But--you and Daddy--you could _talk_ and once you're calm you say you're sorry and--"

"Maria, please." He turned around to face her, sat down next to her. "I can't. I--I _can't_."

"You--you did before..."

"That was different." He kissed her forehead. "I _am_ sorry about the... the drugs. But this is different, it's--Maria, did you understand what it meant when I told Dad that I'm gay?"

She nodded.

"See, that's why I have to go--I can't be here when he won't accept that."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why are you--why do you have to--can't you just _stop_?"

He almost winced. He hated how she didn't understand, but then, he couldn't expect her to. Not when he considered who her parents were.

But then, they were his parents too. And he _was_ gay.

"I can't." He knew she was on the verge of crying and reached for the box of tissues as the first tears came. "It's not something you can choose. And I can't stay here if Dad won't accept it. It wouldn't be safe for me here--me _or_ Sean." She took a tissue and scrubbed at her face as he kept talking. "It's like--Maria, would you be sorry if someone said they hated girls with black hair?"

"...no..." she managed.

"That's how it is with me. It's what I _am_ and I can't apologize for it, so I can't stay."

"But what about me?" She shuddered, and started to cry in earnest. "Don't you love me still?"

"_Carina_..." Race sat next to her on the bed, slipped his arm around her shoulder, let her cry. "Of course I do. I love you so much I can hardly believe it. But I can't stay. It won't be good for anyone. If I could bring you with me, I would."

"Why can't you?"

"You know why."

She looked at him, still sniffling, and Race couldn't help but notice she'd grown a bit over the past couple of weeks.

He'd missed it.

He hugged her again, but she pulled away, wiping her eyes.

"I'll help you pack," she said, semi-cheerfully. Race had to smile.

That was Maria's way. She didn't like being sad, and she didn't like crying, and he didn't doubt for a second that she was fighting tears with every essence of willpower she had.

"Okay." He tried to make himself smile and couldn't quite force it; he realized he probably looked like a clay sculpture that had been messed up and abandoned, his face stuck in an expression he couldn't even name. He swallowed hard and made himself add, "Sophia says I don't have any fashion sense."

"You _don't_." She began to poke through his closet. "Will does. On _Will & Grace_. And the guys on _Queer Eye_. Aren't you supposed to--"

"Stereotypes, Maria." He paused. "And what are you doing watching those shows?"

"Izzy and Sophia watch them," she said, "but don't tell Dad, because he wouldn't like it."

"No kidding." He ruffled her hair slightly. "You're my favorite sister."

"You're my favorite brother."

"I'm your _only_ brother."

"Yeah. That makes it easy." She picked out a few shirts and tossed them on to his bed. "Will you visit sometimes?"

"If... If I can."

"Can I visit you?"

"Dad wouldn't like it."

"But _I_ would."

Race kind of smiled again, and ruffled her hair. "You do what you can, and I'll do what I can. Okay?"

"Okay." She wrinkled her nose. "Sean is hot and everything, but why him? He's too skinny and he's a jerk. Why not Michael? _He's_ nice."

Race shook his head. "Maria..."

"Are you sure you can't make it go away?"

There was another silence, and Race gave her a slight, stern glare. Because she would have to learn to see something she'd never accepted before in a whole new light.

"No. And I don't want to."

"Okay."

"But if I could stay with you, I would."

"Are you... Only leaving because of Sean?" she asked. "If it wasn't for Sean, you wouldn't be--"

"Maria, I'm gay."

He was surprised by how patient he felt; he knew he could say it as many times as he needed to. As many times as it took to make her understand, because he just couldn't stomach the thought of his little sister not understanding him.

"It's not a choice. It wasn't Sean, he didn't _make_ me gay. I always have been--he's just the first boy I ever dated."

"Tony, that's gross."

"No, Maria, it isn't." He hoped she didn't know how much it hurt him to hear her talk like that. But at least she didn't say things _intended_ to hurt him.

"It's weird."

"Not really. It's... Normal, for some people. And maybe it's weird to get used to, but if you can't get used to it, then I won't be able to visit you."

"I'll get used to it," she answered immediately. "You're my brother. You're weird anyway."

"Well, so are you."

And they were quiet after that for a few minutes, packing the suitcase until it was almost too full to shut. She had to sit on it to get it closed, and for a second it felt like he was getting ready for a trip or a vacation, not to leave his home forever.

But when he saw how empty his closet was, and glanced at the drumset he'd never get to use again, and the tissue box on his bed where Maria left it when she'd stopped crying, he knew it _was_ forever. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going to go. He didn't know where he'd live or how he'd afford to live without his parents' help. But he was leaving.

Silently, he kneeled down and hugged Maria tightly again, as hard as he could. More than anything, right then, he wished he could stay. He couldn't stand the thought of leaving her in this house without him. Something about it wasn't right.

When he pulled away, she was crying again.

"Don't," she grabbed his sleeve, tugging on it childishly. "Don't go. You can talk to Daddy, you have to, Tony..."

Race bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling. "Maria..." he said in a choked voice. "I _can't_."

She hugged his arm, and then abruptly, let go and went for the door. "Sophie is gonna be mad."

"I know."

"And Izzy will yell at you."

"I know."

"And mom will cry."

Race didn't respond to that.

He'd made his mother cry more times in the past than he wanted to think about; this would just be one more. One more BIG one... He'd been too busy being unconscious when he'd overdosed to see her reaction to that, but he knew what it was anyway. His mother cried at everything, and when something that was actually important happened...

What kind of a person made his mother and his baby sister cry?

It was almost like an electrical surge, the sudden craving that overtook him, but for a change he knew exactly why. It wasn't even that he was freaked out about being kicked out of his home; it was because he felt like...

He felt like he deserved it. His parents had tried with him for so many years, had stood by him no matter what. He'd betrayed them when he'd started witch cocaine, and they'd forgiven him. He relapsed, and they not only forgave him, they were willing to let him join the band, have friends they didn't like, because they thought it would make him happy. And now he was gay, and that was what they considered the ultimate betrayal, they'd done nothing to deserve it but give him try after try to get his life together, and he'd responded by dating Spot.

Damn it, he wasn't going to cry; he wasn't going to lose it in front of Maria. No matter how much he wanted a line and no matter how much he wanted to go crawling to his father, begging forgiveness for being such a pathetic excuse for a son, he would NOT lose it in front of Maria.

But right at that moment, he hated himself more than he ever had before.

Maria opened the door, and took his hand tightly without looking at him. When she led him out, Sophia was standing at the top of the stairs.

When she looked at him, her cheeks were dry, but her eyes were red.

Sophia was not the type of girl that cried. And she may not have been doing it now, but she was close, and that was the closest Sophia and he had ever gotten to showing how much they really did love each other.

She sighed, and stepped towards him, still not doing anything.

"I told you they'd flip," Race said.

"I know..."

"I wish it was different, Sophie. But it's not."

"I _know_." She sounded like she was as close to breaking down as he was. "I'm not asking for you to fix it, _Fratello_. Don't--don't blame yourself..."

He shut his eyes lightly. _Don't blame myself._

Right. The drugs had been his fuck up, this wasn't. No matter how much it FELT like it, this was genuinely not his fault. It was his parent's bigotry, not his homosexuality that was the problem. And if he tried hard, he actually sort of believed that.

He was going to miss Sophia so much it hurt. But he didn't know what else to say to her, so he pushed himself up onto his tiptoes for a second, so he could kiss her forehead, and then pulled her into a tight hug. She bit her lip and hugged him back, and really, they didn't need words.

So, suitcase in tow, he started down the stairs.

Isabella wasn't home. He hated that. He was almost positive she could have made this better, could have spoken to his father, could have done anything to make everything right. In the end, she was the oldest and he still had some sort of hero worship that led him to believe she would solve everything.

But nothing could solve this.

As he passed by the living room, he saw his mother, sitting in the couch, sobbing. She had her head in her hands and she looked so much smaller than usual.

"Mama?"

She didn't answer. She just cried. And this time, it really felt like the worst time he'd ever made her cry, because he wouldn't be there the next morning to make it up to her with breakfast and some stupid jokes. He was going, and somehow he knew that was the last thing Mrs. Higgins had ever wanted.

She loved him. His mother loved him, and it took _this_ to make him realize it?

"Mama, I'm going..."

She let out a choked sound, and it almost sounded like he was killing her.

He looked in on her from the doorway, shaking slightly, one hand on the wall for support. "Mama?" he said, and she didn't look up at him. "Mama, I love you."

And she looked up at him then, and shook her head a little. "Just..." she said between sobs. "Just--go."

And he stared at her for a second, for the first time feeling as though he was betrayed, not the betrayer. Because his mother loved him, and part of her _must_ have wanted him to stay--but at the same time, she was just as homophobic as his father, and no matter how much she loved him, his relationship with Spot was unforgivable.

He wondered if she could see his heart break.

A very malicious part of him hoped so.

But instead, he just nodded and lifted himself from the wall, picked up the suitcase, and walked out.

The door closed after him with a frightening finality.

* * *

F: Ooooh boy, sad chapter. Actually, B and I had an amazing time writing this one. We're very proud.

B: We like the way it came out a lot... Though yeah, the fluff is gone. It's pretty much all angst and doom from here on out. Something to look forward to, right?

F: -sniffle-

B: And by the by, the fic is now a year old. Oh, it just grew up so fast...

F: I really don't want it to end any time soon. So the next part won't be for a year!

B: Knowing us, that's about right...

_Celebrated with Ben & Jerry's Fudge Brownie ice cream. Oh hells yeah.)_


	20. Losing Home

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

Innocence is an accident  
Even if it goes by two or three  
And in a sense it's a consequence  
Of everything you took away from me   
But I'm alright  
I said when I got out  
Nothing ever came for free  
I'm up all night  
Pretending to make out  
Remember the time when you called me out from my school  
(my school, that day at my school)  
And we got caught by the cops but we'd never go to prison  
'Cause we made the rules  
Well alright  
Whenever you get out  
You'll be looking after me  
And we'll be making it right  
All right  
-Sloan, _Delivering Maybes_

****

**_Chapter Twenty: Losing Home_**

Spot stared directly ahead, and Marco watched the traffic and they didn't say a word. Spot didn't want to think about where he might end up at the end of the van ride; he didn't want to think about the gun he knew Marco carried or the one that Mr. Higgins had aimed at him.

So instead he thought of Race, and it was easy to concentrate on him, though almost as nerve wracking, because he truly had no idea what was going to happen to his boyfriend. He was relatively sure it would involve them never seeing each other again--no, he was absolutely sure of that--but he had no way of knowing if Racetrack was even _safe_ now.

So finally he took a deep breath and asked, "Is Tony going to be okay?"

"Not one fucking word," Marco snarled in response. "Swear to god, you EVER mention my cousin's name again and I'll fucking KILL you, you fucking--"

"Faggot?" Spot filled in. "Fuck _you_, you knew I was gay."

"Yeah? I didn't know you were--" Marco stopped, and shuddered. "You just keep your fucking hands to yourself."

"Jesus CHRIST, I'm not going to--"

"Don't talk," Marco spat. "I swear to god, I'll kill you if you say another goddamn word."

Spot assumed that was an exaggeration.

But he wasn't going to risk it.

So they went back to silence, with him worrying about Racetrack, and feeling sick and knowing there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.

* * *

Jack couldn't believe his luck. The last popsicle in the house, and it was HIS. Beside that, no one else was in the kitchen, so no one else could see him take it. That was the thing with this family. They all loved popsicles, even Spot.

He was also kind of happy because David was over, and Denise loved David. She thought he was a prodigy. So they were in the living room, watching movies. They had planned to stay at David's, but Jack had had a fight with Sarah mid make out, so he and David had decided to take refuge at his place with Race and Spot.

Denise said that Spot and Race had gone out, but they hadn't been back for awhile. With a shudder, Jack realized they might be...

He shook his head and walked back into the living room.

Denise stared. "Is that the LAST POPSICLE?"

Jack smiled. "It sure is."

"You ASS."

"I am." He stuck the popsicle in his mouth. "But with a popsicle."

David just laughed and looked at their movie selection. "Wow...someone in this house really likes James Bond."

"Spot," Denise and Jack supplied. David nodded.

"When are they getting back?' he asked, checking his watch. Denise sighed.

"I don't know, they left awhile ago. Probably got distracted. Tony _is_ a cutie."

"Ugh," Jack glared. David punched his shoulder.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Jack lazily stood up and walked out of the room. It was probably them, so he'd have to endure a night of Tony.

He opened the door, and Spot was standing there with a huge Italian man.

Jack stared.

Spot was shoved forward and Jack caught him, and then his stare turned angry at the huge man. "Who're--"

"Keep him the fuck away from my cousin."

Then he turned on his heel and walked down the stairs, kicking aside one of their porch lights on the way.

It broke.

Jack closed the door and looked down at Spot.

It was serious.

"Spot?" he asked.

Spot bit his lip, and after a painfully long silence said, "We fucked up, Jacky. _I_ fucked up and his dad's gonna put him in the _hospital_."

Jack furrowed his brow a little. "What do you mean--what _happened_?" He nodded towards the door to the living room. "C'mon, if it's important we should talk to Denise."

Spot started to object, then stopped. Because it wasn't like _he_ knew what the hell to do; for all he knew, Denise might. Maybe discovering that your foster son's boyfriend was probably bleeding to death at his father's hands was the sort of thing they taught you how to deal with when you signed up to take in a foster kid.

Somehow, he doubted that. But Denise was better than nothing, and he was still too numb to argue as Jack led him into the living room.

David and Denise could see immediately that something was wrong; Spot just looked drained. "Sean?" Denise asked after another long quiet.

"His dad caught us." Spot sank into one of the chairs. "It's just so fucked up."

Jaws dropped. If the situation were different, he would have laughed. David's facial expressions were priceless.

"_What_?" David said.

"His dad saw," Spot cleared his throat. "He threw me out, smacked Tony around..."

"Is he okay?"

"He was when I left, but now..." Spot looked down at the ground. "I don't know."

Jack slipped his arm around him, and despite other people being in the room, Spot leaned into him. Because Jack was warm.

"You left him?" Denise didn't sound accusatory; she just sounded surprised.

"I was kicked out."

"Sean..." She trailed off. "When you say his dad smacked him around, how badly are you talking about?"

He shrugged. "He was okay. When I left. But--I don't know if--his dad went _psycho_, I don't know _what_ else he'd do..."

"Do you think he's in serious danger?"

Spot bit his lip. The answer was yes, but at the same time he knew he was still going to be watched, that if the police showed up at Race's house to make sure that he was okay and found the mafia ran out of the upstairs office, he could be pretty certain that he was going to end up very dead. Which he didn't want.

But if it was him or Tony...

The decision of whether or not to answer was taken out of his hands. "Yes," David said quietly. "I've seen--at school sometimes, Tony comes in pretty beat up and... He doesn't talk about it. But it's his dad, I _know_ it is for a fact..." He shot a look at Spot. "I can't imagine this ending without him..."

"In the fucking hospital," Spot mumbled again. Because Spot knew what it was like to have a violent father lose his mind; he had the scars to prove it.

He shuddered a little.

Jack wasn't saying anything. That was his way. Denise was debating inside her head. She was like that, she wasn't sure if she should give her true advice, or go by what she knew someone wanted to hear.

Right now, Spot was sure Denise wanted Spot and Race to end their relationship, for both their safety, but she wouldn't say, because she probably knew they were in love with each other.

"Spot..." Denise swallowed. "Should I go over there and get him?"

Spot was about to answer, but on cue, their was another knock at the door. They all jumped, and at the same time ran for the front door, each knocking over the other. Spot reached it first, and flung it open with an urgency he never knew he had.

And, like he knew he would when he heard the knock, he saw Racetrack standing there, suitcase in hand, and a little bit wet.

It was raining now.

Race looked like he was about three seconds from collapsing and Spot grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside, and David picked up the suitcase. And within two steps, Race was shaking so hard he could barely walk and the only reason he was able to really stand was because Spot was holding on to him, not letting him go even for a second.

There was a large bruise on Race's face where he'd been hit, and his head was pounding, and the fact that he'd made it there alive was impressive. Because Race hadn't been paying attention to his driving, and the two red lights he ran combined with the rain should have led to an accident. But if he had even a tiny bit of luck that day, it was that he'd survived the car ride.

Denise was the first one to spot the bruise. "Tony?" she asked. "Tony, are you hurt?"

"N-no."

She helped Spot guide him to the living room, set him down on the couch.

"Your face, Tony."

"It's fine." He shuddered from the wet and cold and the fact that his mind was totally numb and that he had a craving and that his family hated him. He shuddered, and then felt a wave of nausea and put a hand to his mouth as though that would help. "Gonna be _sick_," he croaked.

David sprang for a trash bin and handed it to him; it got there just in time, and he retched violently as soon as he saw he could.

"Tony..." It was Denise again. She hesitated. "Jack, go get him an ice pack."

"N-no, I don't need--"

But Jack had already gone to do it, so he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then just stared down at the floor. He could feel Spot's arm around him still, and was grateful, even though Spot hadn't said a word.

The next person to speak was David. "Tony? What... happened?"

And right before he started puking again, Race managed to say, "I think... I think I was disowned..."

Jack had just re-entered the room, and almost dropped the ice. "You serious?"

"Yeah, I think."

Jack kept talking before anyone else could. "Why?"

"Because Dad tried to... I dunno, he just didn't like the whole gay thing, if that really surprises you."

"Why didn't you just... I dunno," Jack shrugged. "Worm your way out of it? Like you do with everything else?"

There was an intense silence, and Race glared at Jack, because he knew what Jack was asking. "I'm not about to pretend Sean didn't happen because of my dad."

Jack shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, he kicked you out, it's not like--"

"He gave me the choice and I left, you fuck--"

"STOP," Denise snapped. "Jack, keep your mouth shut unless you know how to word what you say or... unless you learn the right thing to say, alright? Tony, do you want to tell us what happened?"

Race tried to find the words, and with that action came a flood of images in his mind of Izzy and mother and his dad and Sophia and Maria... and he choked.

He was trying harder than ever not to cry.

"Fuck..." he finally said, and Jack handed him the ice and he pressed it to his face. It took him long enough to collect his thoughts that Denise almost asked if he was all right again, and Spot was more worried than he'd let on--because he'd seen Race's head slam into the wall and didn't want to think about things like concussions.

But then Race started talking.

"It's so fucked up. I hate him, I goddamn _hate_ him and--Christ, I can't believe I--I either had to stay there and forget Spot and switch schools and be a perfect fucking straight boy or leave the family all together so I--I _left_." He took a deep breath. "I left and I _know_ my dad and he'll just act like I never existed to begin with and--my _sisters_--oh God..."

He buried his face in the icepack again and wondered if what was freezing to his cheek were tears or leftover raindrops, dripping out of his hair.

"Is Maria okay?" David asked timidly.

"No!" Race burst out. "She somehow thinks I can still stay, but that I'm not trying hard enough. At least Sophia doesn't think I'm letting her down."

"Maria's a tough kid, Tony," Spot said. "She'll be fine."

"She's only twelve."

"Yeah, well, she's been through a lot already,"

"She's _only twelve!"_ Race snapped. "Okay? Now she has...a house full of...god, I hate this so much...why did I have to get HIM? Why did I get him as a father, of all people?"

Denise sighed, rubbed her hands together. "Tony?"

"Yeah...?"

"I suppose you need a place to stay."

"No," Race said. He wasn't going to take sympathy; he'd find a way to cope He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had no family, but at least he had his pride. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Tony..." David sighed a little. "Sleeping in your car is not fine. Don't be stupid."

And Race stared at him for a second because... Well, because David knew exactly what he'd been thinking. So he just shrugged. "It's comfortable."

"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to put my foot down, Tony," Denise said. "You're staying here until things are... Worked out."

He shook his head. "No, it's really okay, I don't want to--"

"Shut up, Tony." And everyone kind of stared at Jack for a second after he spoke. The people who knew him the best--which was really everyone but Race--knew from his tone of voice that he'd reached some kind of... decision. After a second he continued with, "Seriously; it's all fucked up and even _I_ can see that, so for awhile at least you're gonna stay here."

Race swallowed. "Jack...?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, well, whatever. My brother likes you. So I guess you don't totally suck."

Race leant back against the chair, ice pressed to his face. "Thanks," he mumbled. "But I don't want to impose or--"

"Tony, look around. I collect stray children," Denise said gently. "Seriously; some old maids have cats, I have adopted kids."

Race swallowed hard, then smiled a little. "Spot fucked up earlier. He called you his mom."

There was a pause, and then everyone turned to look at Spot. Race was just glad they weren't looking at him anymore, even though Spot looked a tiny bit annoyed. But given the current circumstances, no one was going to get too mad at Race for taking attention away from himself.

"You called me mom?" Denise said after a moment, her voice sounding... different.

Spot shrugged.

"Really?"

"Tony is stupid."

"_Sean_?"

"What? We can't talk about this NOW, he--"

"Actually, I just want to... not talk about what happened, so you two can go nuts." Race stood up, and David stood with him. "Davey--"

David grinned and put his arm around him. "I'm taking him to bed. Come on, Jack."

Jack pouted, and shoved his hands in his pockets, following behind them and looking back at Spot and Denise. Kind of jealous.

"So Jack," David said, sensing his best friend's slight jealousy without even needing to look and wanting to get him involved in the conversation, "where does he sleep?"

"What?" Jack asked, catching up with them.

"Well; either we make up the couch in the living room for him, _or_--"

"He's not sleeping in Spot's room."

"Then you have to go kick out your mom and Spot while they bond."

Jack hesitated. "That's mean, Dave. You _want_ them to sleep together."

"Yes." David nodded. "Because Tony here is about three minutes from a nervous breakdown, and I want Spot between him and the nearest coke dealer. And he's prone to doing stupid things like running away from the people who want to help him."

"Gee, Dave. Glad you think so highly of me."

"I love you, Tony. I also know you very well."

Jack sighed. "Yeah, well, I don't. So I'll take your word for it." He groaned. "Spot's gonna be way too fucking excited about this."

They opened the door to Spot's room and deposited the suitcase in the corner, and Race sat on Spot's bed. David sat next to him, and hesitantly, Jack sat on a chair.

"Tony, try and think of it like this," David said after a minute. "You... You lost a lot tonight. But you're not hiding anymore, and you're going to be sharing a bed with your boyfriend, for a few days at least. And that's gotta be worth _something_."

Race pulled his knees up to his chest. "Yeah..." he said quietly. "Yeah, right now that's all I've got."

"And me, and Mush, and the band," David put his hand on Race's shoulder. "Even Jack, and Denise. So don't feel like you're alone, okay? I know this sounds _impossible_, but we've all been through something hard, and we know."

"Spot has..." Jack cleared his throat, obviously not partial to heart to hearts with Race. "Spot has... been through worse, so, he'll understand either way. And Dutchy thinks you're god, so--" David punched him again, for the fourth or so time that night. "What? It's true!"

"Stop being a troublemaker," David snapped, and turned back to Race. "Listen, Tony, just don't lose it again, okay? I'd miss you a lot."

"Jesus, Davey. I'm not gonna..." He trailed off. "I'm trying not to lose it."

"You'll be fine," David said. "It'll take awhile, but I know you. You recover from things."

"Sure, but I relapse two years later." He began to play with his hair, trying to drain the last of the water out of it.

"You... Want a towel?" Jack asked, feeling very odd because he _didn't_ know Race and he really had no idea how to help. "Or... Like, cocoa or something? You look cold."

"Aww, see, even _Jack_ likes you now."

"Yeah; being pathetic works wonders," Race mumbled.

David shoved him a little, though gently. "Don't talk like that."

"It's true."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "But really... I can't believe you'd give up the fucking sweet life for Spot."

"It wasn't so fucking sweet," Race mumbled. "And... Jesus, he's _your_ brother. What would you do?"

Jack gave him a serious look, then sort of smiled. "You're right, god. I'd do the exact same thing. Lemme go get you that towel." And Jack exited the room with an odd sort of spring in his step.

Race turned to David. "See? It's not me. It's Spot. Everyone loves him." He swallowed "Except my dad... or whatever he is to me now..."

David sighed. "Spot is...well, we all kind of hated him at the beginning, you know. He grew on us because we saw that he needed people. And I dunno... after a while we started to need him to."

Race stared, his mind off of the current situation. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if anything were to happen to Spot, all of us would be more depressed than you'd think we'd be. "

"I know why I would."

David nodded. "Because you love him. Well, he's...listen, he just was such an asshole to us when he first came here. And no one really wanted to deal with him, and he hated us so he didn't either. But things changed and he is what he is now."

Race shrugged. "What's that?"

"Huh?"

"What is Spot to everyone now? I mean, why would you be so depressed if he was gone?"

"You know."

"I think I do, but I want to hear. I love him, like, so much it's amazing, but still, I want to hear."

David took a deep breath, wondering why this was so hard. "He's... Our friend. He and Blink have this bizarre relationship where I think they're way closer than anyone else realizes--watch them together sometime--and he and Dutchy get drunk together and he really _is_ like Jack's brother, and... You know, Itey and I love him too, because he's... He's just _genuine_."

Genuine. That was a good word for Spot.

Race nodded. "That's... Kind of why I love him."

"I know. And... It might be kind of assholeish of me to say tonight, but really, I'd way rather see you with him than see you with your father, because your father is so..."

"Fucked up?"

"So not _right_ for you. It's like there's this giant _thing_ in your house that no one will talk about but you're all really aware of and reacting to all the time. If that makes any sense."

"Not really," Race said, though he was kind of creeped out by how eerily perceptive David was. Because when Race thought about it, just about every screw up he'd pulled was because of his dad and the mob. So much of their family life focused on dealing with that, that it was a wonder they'd even noticed he was on drugs.

Not that he could tell David any of that. But it was still impressive how good at picking up on things David really _was_.

"Davey?"

"What?"

"Do you..." Race looked down at his hands, not really wanting to say what it was he was about to say, but he knew he had to because he...he owed it to David and him. "Do you promise to always be here?"

"...Tony?"

"Because really, I think the only person who ever raised me was you."

David didn't seem to really know what to say for a moment, but then he smiled. "Am I your mom? Is that it?"

Race smiled up at him. "Yeah, that's _exactly_ it."

David gave him a noogie, and Race laughed as he pushed him back. "Yes, Tony, I'll _always_ be here."

"Promise?"

Another smile. The kind of one that meant that David knew something everyone else didn't. "Even when you don't want me to be, I'll be right next to you, doing what I always do."

"Which will annoy me because you're always right."

"Exactly." David nodded. "So you know I'm right when I tell you that one way or another, this _will_ work out and it'll be for the best. Because being in the closet? That was not the best thing for you."

"I know." He shuddered a little. "I hated every second of it, I just wanted to--to have my family _understand_ and... Well, that was asking a bit much."

"It shouldn't have been," David said. "It's not your fault they don't see what's in front of them. You and Spot--you're _good_ together. What your family _should_ have wanted was for you to be happy."

"But they didn't--Jesus--even my mother wanted me to leave."

"Your mother is a homophobic--" He cut off before he actually said what he was thinking. "If she doesn't want you in her life because you're gay, she doesn't _deserve_ you. Neither of them do--and you didn't deserve everything you've been through."

"I put them through a lot, too."

"Tony," David said seriously, "I'm _always_ right. So trust me, okay?"

Race sighed. "Okay," he mumbled.

The door to the room opened, and Spot strode in, looking... kind of smug, but also kind of touched and generally, well, like Spot.

"Hey; where's _your_ boyfriend, Dave? Hands off mine." Spot started to sit down next to Race, then changed his mind and instead sat down _on_ Race, pushed him over so they were lying on the bed together, Spot on top of him.

"Uh..." David said, then sighed. "I take it your talk with Denise went well."

"Shut up." But Spot said it good naturedly.

"So what did you two _discuss_?"

Spot gave him a _look_, then shrugged a little, because he was actually pretty pleased. "I'm still gonna call her Denise. But... She's gonna talk to my social worker about _actually_ adopting me."

David grinned. "Kick _ass_."

"Yeah, no more worries about being taken away."

Race smiled. "Me, neither," he said quietly. "That means we're both... kinda... free."

David gave the two of them an amused look, then stood up. "See, Tony? I told you there was an upside."

Race nodded a little, as Spot put a hand on his cheek. His skin was clammy and still damp. "Being out of the closet _rules_," he declared.

"Tony, you're freezing," Spot mumbled.

"I'll bet you could warm him up..."

They both gave David odd looks, and he shrugged. "Well, it was just a suggestion."

"I like that suggestion."

"Me, too."

"Tony looks all scraggly," David added. "He should go take a hot, steamy shower."

"I like that suggestion, too."

"Yeah," Race agreed. "But I find it kind of creepy that it's coming from David."

"I dunno. It's nice when our friends encourage our sex life..." Spot coughed a little. "It's nice to _have_ a sex life, finally."

"Sure is."

"Right. I'm leaving now." David paused. "Be safe, kids. Use a condom and for god's sake, clean up the bathroom when you're done."

"Go away now."

"Going," David said cheerfully. He didn't mention that the more the two of them wore each other out, the less likely they'd be to think about what had happened that day--and the less likely it was that either of them would have a nervous breakdown. He didn't care so much about their sex life as about their mental health.

David was a very good friend like that.

David walked back into the living room, and saw that Denise was dozing lightly on the couch, and he smiled. He liked Denise, she was the only woman out there who could ever really be a mother to Spot; he listened to her, and he cared about her.

Even back when Spot had never listened to anyone.

He continued to the kitchen, and saw Jack was sitting in a five year old manner, pouting at the table, and holding a hand towel in his hand that obviously had been meant for Race. He sighed, and sat down next to him.

He pinched his cheek. "Is Jacky Wacky jealous?"

Jack grinned and shoved him. "Shut up."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"For...I dunno, being Tony's friend?"

"Why would that make me mad?"

David looked at the table top. "No reason."

"Well..." Jack put his hand on his arm. "I'm not, okay? I'd never be mad at you. And if I was, it'd be for a GOOD reason. You look tired."

"I am."

"Sleep."

"Here? I have to go home."

Jack shrugged and put his arm lazily, and companionably around David's shoulder. "Take a nap, I'll wake you up before it's midnight and then walk you home."

"...thanks."

Then David leaned against him slightly, something Jack hadn't quite expected, and proceeded to nap.

Jack smiled at him and leaned back in his chair.

It was very comfortable.

* * *

Upstairs, Spot was holding the ice on Race's head, while Race took a few breathing moments to compose his thoughts, and breathe in the scent of Spot's room; he still wasn't quite functional yet.

Finally, he managed to say, "I'm sorry about--about everything. My family has..." He trailed off, then mumbled, "Shit, they aren't even my _family_ anymore but... Jesus, I can't believe my dad actually--"

"Tony," Spot said. "Seriously, chill. It's okay. We're both alive."

"But--"

"We're alive. And we're together. And I sure as hell don't want that much more outta life," Spot mumbled. "Your dad is a dick and your cousin ain't such a prize--"

"Marco?" Race interrupted. "He--what did he _do_?"

"Yelled a lot. He's... not thrilled with us, either."

"Jesus." Race shooed Spot's hand and the ice off of his face. "I can't believe he's my fucking father. I can't believe I lived with such..." He trailed off.

Spot cocked his head. "_I_ can't believe you lived with him and turned out the way you did."

"Yeah? Well I can't believe all the shit you've been through and that you're still the most amazing fucking person ever." Race looked up into Spot's eyes, and really, truly smiled for the first time that night. "...I can't believe we're _together_. And no one is left who can stop us..."

"So what's stopping us?"

"Don't talk to _me_ about it; usually you're the one who sticks your tongue down my throat."

So Spot didn't talk anymore. He stuck his tongue down Race's throat, set aside the ice, and wrapped himself around Race. Race kissed back and found himself utterly lost in the kiss, in Spot's arms, in _Spot_. Because his mind still hadn't quite dealt with the day yet, and Spot was an amazing distraction.

Between kisses, Spot began to mumble something about, "Get you outta... these... wet clothes..." And acted on it, and Race responded with, "Get you outta these _dry_ clothes..."

And after that, it was really amazing to either one of them that they'd gone so long in hiding. Because some things were just obviously _right_, and Spot and Race together was one of them.

* * *

"And sex officially solves everything..." David yawned as Jack walked him home. "At least, for a little while. With Race and Spot that is."

Jack shrugged. "I guess."

"You okay?"

"Meh."

David rolled his eyes, and shoved Jack with his elbow. "Come on, there's no reason to be jealous. Actually, you should be happy for him."

"I am!"

"Then why the long face?"

"Because!" Jack exclaimed. "Because, he's lived with me for like, I dunno, awhile, but it's his friggin boyfriend living with us that cheers him up? I can barely make Spot smile, and Tony can do it in a matter of seconds. I fucking hate it."

David sighed a little and ran a hand through his hair. "Jack..."

"I know, I know. So long as Spot's happy, that's all I should care about and I'm not gonna be a dick to Tony or anything, but it still makes me... You know, jealous."

David though for a second, and finally commented, "You know, that's not really so bad, Jack. I mean, you _do_ care about him. You just said what you want is for him to be happy. Which makes you a pretty good brother, when you get down to it."

"...You worry about Sarah, ever?"

"Are you kidding me? She's dating _you_."

There was a pause.

"Does that mean you do or you don't?" Jack asked finally.

David laughed and shoved him gently, and started up the path to his front door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jack," he called. "I'll stop by on my way to the bus to make sure Tony's okay."

Jack smiled back at him. "'Night, Davey." He waved, and waited to make sure David got all the way inside safely before he started back to his own house.

* * *

The next morning, it took a joint effort of Denise, David, Jack and Spot trying to wake up Race.

It wasn't working very well.

He really did sleep like a rock. Denise quickly gave up, and Jack seemed to have resumed his previous opinion of Race, when David just hauled the guy straight off the mattress, and dumped him on the floor.

Race barely moved.

So finally, they all just walked out. Even Spot. Race was left in a snoring pile on the floor. It wasn't so bad, because they all woke early (not as early as Spot, but early) so there was time to spare.

But STILL.

David sighed and finally walked back to Spot's room, let himself in. "You're not asleep, Tony."

"...Shutup."

"Yeah, yeah. You have to deal with what happened yesterday; you can't lie on the floor all day and pretend it didn't happen."

"I bet I could if I tried."

"Get _up_, Tony."

Race sighed. "Do I hafta?"

"Yes." David offered him a hand, and grudgingly Racetrack let himself be pulled up, found a shirt and a pair of pants and walked absently into the kitchen.

"Sleeping beauty wakes," Denise said.

"Mpmmph. 'S _early_."

David punched his shoulder playfully. "You always think it's too early to be up."

"It _is_. Everything before nine is..." He yawned. "Too early."

"Slacker," Jack said, but not maliciously.

Denise handed Racetrack a box of Lucky Charms and a bowl, and he sat down next to Spot.

"So..." Denise said. "We're gonna have to figure out what you're doing about school, since I'm guessing your parents are paying for that."

Race nodded, suddenly preoccupied with pouring milk into his cereal, and not wanting to think about it or hear about it.

"And you can't just drop out of school for the year," she continued. He put the milk down, picked up a spoon and began to mush his cereal up. "...But for today, I suppose, you can go with Sean and Jack; we'll figure the rest out this evening."

"...And you guys have your audition this afternoon."

Race dropped his spoon into his bowl and stared at David. "Shit, that's TODAY."

"That's what I said."

"Because if we get it the show is _Sunday_."

"Yeah."

"Oh, Christ..." He picked his spoon out of his cereal and wiped it off with a napkin.

"You'll be _fine_," Spot said lazily, shoving his spoon around his bowl. Denise shot him a look . "I'm not hungry."

"You aren't gonna get adopted if they think I don't feed you."

Spot just rolled his eyes.

"It won't be FINE, Dutchy JUST got back!" Race started to whimper. "We only have, like, two songs that are presentable."

"What about the cover you did of--"

"NOT PRESENTABLE."

"Oh don't shout, it's so _loud_ and _obnoxious_," Denise sighed. "Then practice."

"It's too late!" Race exclaimed. "We might not even get in! Do you realize what we're up against?"

"No."

"Gods! Some of these guys are gods of underground rock music."

"Then you're screwed."

"SPOT."

"What?"

"I could use a little support from you here. Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, my _boyfriend_?"

Spot rolled his eyes and said in as monotone a voice as he could manage, "Oh, Tony. Don't you worry. Things will be fine. You're certainly not blowing it out of proportion."

"Ass," Race muttered.

"You like it."

"Your ass? Yes. I do."

"OKAY, you two, not at the table," Denise interrupted.

David laughed. "I gotta go catch my bus. I'll bring you today's homework, Tony."

"_Goody_, you do that."

"You'll be thanking me when you don't fail chem."

"At this point, the chances of me not failing chem are about the same as the chances of my father showing up at the door to beg my forgiveness."

Everyone cast a look at the door, which, of course, remained exactly as it was.

"See? Totally failing."

"You will not."

"I sure will."

"Well, with _that_ attitude--"

"Oh, go _away_," Race sulked. David smacked the back of his head gently, grabbed his jacket and headed out, waving as he left.

"Don't be mean to Davey," Jack growled under his breath.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt your wife's feelings?"

"Fuck you--"

"Okay, okay, okay," Denise broke in again. "Sean, you're being good. You two, clean up the table."

"WHAT!?"

Spot smiled and left the room, saying something about sitting in the living room and basking in the comfortable sofa.

Race and Jack glared at the other as they cleaned up and Denise left the room. "He's my friend, I was joking around," Race muttered.

"He's still trying to help."

"It's our _thing_,"

"YOUR thing."

Race snorted. "Just forget it."

Jack didn't respond, so he obviously agreed with Race on that one. How Spot could get along with someone so idiotic was beyond him.

Granted, he was really tired and grumpy and kind of a mess, so his tolerance level wasn't sweeping a nation.

Race gathered dishes and began to wash them, while Jack kind of stood there. Because Race was doing what was basically all of the work, but he didn't want to be blamed for not doing anything so he couldn't actually leave. And finally he muttered, "I'm trying to get along with you, so don't be a dickhead."

Race glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah? I was just joking around with David. The same way we always do. Don't be so sensitive."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Race rolled his eyes. "You sound like Mari--" He stopped.

He might never get to hear Maria whine at him again.

"...Tony?" Jack finally asked, as Race collected himself and went back to work on the dishes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just had a--moment."

"Your sister'll be fine. She's a good kid."

"I know, but--Christ, I should _be_ there." He mumbled the next part so quietly that Jack could barely hear him above the running water. "What if she forgets me?"

Jack snorted. "No one could forget you. I've tried."

Race looked up at him, and then smirked and let out a laugh. "Thanks for that."

"It's no problem, really."

"You wanna do _anything_, or are you gonna stand there?"

"Stand here, thanks." Race shook his head, and flicked some water at Jack. "Hey! Fucker!"

"I so won, wash this."

Jack grumbled and grabbed the plate.

But there wasn't anymore arguing.

* * *

"I'm _walking_ to school."

"You wouldn't leave your car the school's lot, and Denise is taking Jack's van while her car is in the shop this morning."

"I'm WALKING to school, Spot, this is...not right."

"Cry me a river." He rolled his eyes. "She's gonna drop the van off, so it's not like you'll have to walk _home."_

"This _sucks._"

"Shut _up_!" Jack snapped. "You woman!"

"This coming from the guy who thought _Pretty In Pink_ was a moving movie," Spot mused. Jack punched Spot's arm. There was no elaboration.

Race kind of chuckled. There didn't need to be elaboration, and the whole problem was solved because a moment later Itey pulled up, Dutchy in the back.

"Tony?" he asked, and Dutchy smiled and then pretended he hadn't.

"Yo."

"Uh..."

Jack climbed in to the front, so Spot and Race took the back; Blink was clearly going to be late because he'd spent the night at Mush's, so they didn't need to worry about running out of seatbelts.

"Ummm... So what're you doing here?"

"Huh. Funny story about that," Race answered. "I got kicked out of my house last night."

He let it sit for a moment while everyone else reacted, and then Itey actually turned around and yelped, "WHAT?!"

"Itey, ONCOMING TRAFFIC!" Jack yelled in response, and yanked on the wheel, pulling it back to where it belonged.

Itey went back to driving, but repeated, "_What_?"

"We had sex and his dad found out," Spot supplied, picking at the rip on the knee of his jeans.

"Oh my god!"

"How was it?"

"DUTCHY!"

"Fucking awesome."

"SPOT!"

Itey sighed and glanced at Race through the mirror. "Tony? You okay?"

Race shrugged. "Uh? Not really? I'm staying with Jack and Spot now though... Dad hates me. Like, more than usual."

Itey bit his lip. Race wasn't getting too into it, obviously, because he was trying to keep his mind away from...that. But still, Itey didn't want to just drop it.

"So what, are you going to our school now?"

"Until further notice, I guess."

"You sure you're okay?"

"No...we have the audition after school."

"We're gonna die," Dutchy supplied.

"You'll be fine," Jack sighed.

"We will not, we've got NOTHING," Itey said.

"Itey, you didn't skip your coffee this--"

"Sophie told me to cut down!"

"Um..." Race said. "Sophia's advice isn't always great. And, um... Christ. My dad probably isn't going to want her hanging out with you anymore, given... Well, me."

There was a long silence, and finally Dutchy filled in with a very simple, "Your dad's a real dickhead."

The drive to school wasn't very long, and people piled out of the car and towards the building, splitting off to head to various classes. Race followed Spot, a little bit culture shocked; he was used to perfectly uniformed students in ultra-sanitized hallways, not to liberally graffiti'd, trash strewn hall and being shoved aside by kids who looked like...

Well, like their parents couldn't afford to buy them a Lexus.

Spot started towards his study hall, but the bell rang and the hallway cleared out, and he was stopped by a cheerful looking blond girl whose hair fell in soft waves, smiling at him.

"'Morning, Sean!"

"Oh. Hi." Spot didn't sound too thrilled as she walked up to them.

"How was your weekend?"

"Okay."

She paused, clearly waiting for him to ask the same in return, then sighed. "I... Broke up with Steve yesterday."

Spot stared blankly at her, then kind of shrugged. "And?"

"And? Well...what do you think?"

"He was a dick, good call." Spot glanced at Race. "Come on, Tony,"

They started off, but she stopped him. "Sean, I...I was wondering if you were free after school?"

"...Why?"

"Because!" she chirped. "I got paid last Friday, sooo I'm kinda living it large right now." She laughed. Spot nodded slightly and she cleared her throat. "Anyway, so, I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie or something?"

Race burst out into a coughing fit. The girl gave him an odd kind of pouty look.

"Shut up, Tony."

"Who's this?" She cocked her head.

"This is Tony."

"Oh." She smiled. She had a very pretty smile. "Hi Tony! I'm Jessica."

Race stared. "Hi?" he squeaked. "YOU'RE Jessica?"

"Yes... Why?" she asked, suspicious.

Race turned to Spot. "_That's_ her?"

"Well--"

"You told him about me?" She blushed. Spot looked very stressed by the whole thing.

"Uh." Spot winced a little. "Yeah, Tony, that's Jessica. Um, this is Tony. He's..." It was, he realized, the first time he'd said it to someone outside of their group of friends, and he suddenly found the whole thing EXTREMELY nerve wracking. "He's kind of my boyfriend."

"Kind of?" Race mumbled, and Spot elbowed him hard in the ribcage. He started to curse, but Jessica interrupted him.

"Your..." She gave him a weird look. "_Boyfriend_?"

"Well... Yeah." She blinked a few times. Spot groaned. "Don't... Don't like freak out or anything, okay?"

"I--I'm not." She gave Race a very awkward look. "Hi. Tony."

"Hey."

She looked like she wanted to run away, and Spot mumbled, "I thought you knew I was gay."

"I thought gay guys didn't--didn't do what we did," she answered, and continued to babble. "I thought--I mean, you said you were gay and everyone else says your gay but... like, you know, you don't act like that Ryan kid, even if you ARE friends with him, and... And I never saw you _with_ a boy or anything so I figured it was just rumors or something and then when we--at that party..." She finally stopped.

"Uhhh." Spot seemed at a total loss of words.

She gave him a confused look and finally said, "You should go to class." And she walked away.

Spot looked at Race. "So what the hell did all of _that_ mean?"

Race's mouth dropped open, and he turned and continued walking, even though he didn't know where he was going.

"What?" Spot asked. "What, what is it?"

"Are you _serious_?" Race shook his head. "Like, really?"

Spot was about to answer, but a group of pretty girls were walking by and they all stopped in front of Spot.

"Hey, Sean?" One of them asked. "Yeah, we heard that you and Jessica broke up?"

Spot made a very confused facial expression, that was kind of funny, so Race snorted. "What?" Then he looked pissed off. "We didn't have anything to fucking _break_."

"So you're available?" She bit her lip.

"NO!" Spot walked around her. "Come on, Tony..."

"Who's your friend!?" one of the girls called after them.

Race started laughing as Spot finally dragged him into the safety of study hall, where he was relatively certain no one was going to hit on him. Or Race.

"Mr. Conlon; you're late."

"Also, the sky's still blue."

The study hall monitor rolled his eyes. "Do you have a pass?"

"Nope."

"Go sit down." He paused and noticed Racetrack for the first time. "...Your guest?"

"He sure is."

"Did he get cleared through the office?"

"Nope."

The teacher sighed. "Go take him to the office and get him signed in, _please_. And pick up a late pass while you're there."

Spot rolled his eyes and strode back out of the classroom, Race in tow.

"This place is..." Race started, and trailed off, not wanting to inadvertently insult the lifestyle around him. Not when he considered it probably counted as his lifestyle now, too.

"Ghetto?" Spot said. "Yeah; it sucks. It's all bullshit. Come on, on, the office is this--" He stopped abruptly and muttered a curse word under his breath.

"What?"

Spot pointed down the hallway, and Race followed his gaze to see... To see the incredibly gorgeous Steve Olsen walking purposefully towards them.

"I forgot I pissed him off this weekend. Fuck."

"Uh... What's he gonna--"

"CONLON, you goddamn FAGGOT!"

Spot warily stared down Steve, not as angry as he usually would have been, because something about having Racetrack with him left him a bit more mellow than usual. So instead of starting an insult yelling spree, he just waited.

Steve stood tough in front of Spot, but Spot just raised his eyebrows, which kind of made Steve look a bit ridiculous.

"You fucking..." Steve sneered. "Jess dumped me, you fucker, because of you."

"Yeah, I heard that joke. Got a good laugh, thanks. I'm leaving." Spot started off, and Race followed until Steve grabbed Spot's elbow.

"You asking for a fight, Conlon?"

"No, but you know what you should do? You should go get laid. Because that's what I did. With your girl. Three times in one night."

Abruptly, Steve swung at him, but Spot ducked, and then three teachers came out of the staff room. Spot took Steve's moment of hesitation to hurry off, dragging Race along with him.

"Wow, you were provoking him." Race paused. "Three times?"

"Not really." He shuddered a little. "_Gross_, I barely managed it stinking drunk _once_... She, of course, had a great time. I'm awesome that way."

"So you _were_ provoking him."

"I didn't mean to." Which was basically true. "It's kind of my instinct."

"To get the crap beat out of you? Healthy instinct there, Spot."

"Like _you_ should talk, since I seem to recall 'cocaine plus daddy equals--'"

"Shut _up_."

"I'm just saying. You don't exactly avoid fights yourself."

"Yeah, but... That's different."

"Is not." He stopped walking and nodded towards a large, glass-walled room. "In here."

The principal's secretary looked up, and saw him, and groaned. "In trouble _again_, Sean?"

"Nah; just looking for a late pass and a guest pass for my friend."

"Oh?" She looked critically at Racetrack, then nodded. "Well, you just fill out this form," she handed him a clipboard with a sheet of paper already waiting, "and _you_ sign in."

So Race filled out the form, which was really pretty basic stuff (who he was, who he was with, how long he was staying) and handed it back. In return, the secretary filled out a small yellow piece of paper and handed it to him to give to anyone who asked to see it, and handed Spot a pink slip.

They were on their way out when Blink strode in.

"Spot! What's--Tony?"

"Hey."

The secretary sighed. "Why can't _any_ of you boys be on time?" she demanded.

Blink gave her a wave and stared at Race. "Tony, boy, what are you doing here?"

"Dad kicked me out."

"We had sex!" Spot announced. Race punched his elbow, and Spot yipped slightly, and punched him back.

The office went silent.

"Nice!" He and Blink slapped hands and Race just shook his head. "Oh, wait, you were kicked out? Why?"

"Can we talk about this later?"

"Yeah, sure, just let me get my late pass." Blink strode over to the secretary, and Race gave a mean look to his boyfriend.

"What?" Spot asked.

"Do you have to tell _everyone_?"

"Duh. YOU made me wait. I have the right. Wanna go screw in the bathroom?"

"NO."

"Your loss." Spot shrugged. "Hey, Blinken, hurry it up!"

"Am!" Blink called back, and then joined them in the next couple of seconds. They walked out of the office, Race in the middle. Blink threw an arm around him.

"Okay, little guy, so your dad found out, eh?"

"Yeah. And don't call me that."

"And you're living with the twig, right, little guy?"

"I'm not little."

"That's funny."

"I'm not!"

"You're what, four feet tall?"

"Fuck YOU. Jesus. Why are you in such a good mood?"

"Um. Spent the night at Mush's. _You_ do the math."

Race made a face. "You left your handcuffs at home."

And Blink stared at him, and the look on his face was definitely payback for being called 'little guy'. Spot started laughing, and so did Race, and Blink looked utterly horrified.

"How the hell did you--I _know_ I didn't tell you about that!" he yelped, and smacked Spot, who smacked him back and threw Race a knowing look. Race smirked.

"I hate you both," Blink sulked.

"Awwww."

"You both SUCK."

Spot nodded. "Tony does. He's real good at it, especially since he'd never done it before."

"SPOT!"

"Hey, it's a compliment," Blink said philosophically.

"But NOT any of anyone's BUSINESS."

"Well, it's _my_ business," Spot pointed out.

"But not _his_!"

Spot and Blink threw looks at each other, and it was Blink's turn to laugh. So Race muttered irritably, "You know, Maria wanted to know why the hell I'd date a loser like Spot when Mush was a perfectly nice gay boy with _much_ better fashion sense."

Blink scowled. "She did NOT want you dating my boy."

"Better him than Spot."

"You suck."

"Oh, come on," Spot muttered. "Jesus, Blink; he's not dating Mush, and you know Mush adores _you_, so get over it."

Blink gave them another brief dark moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, true; it was definitely me that Mush was doing dirty things to last night--"

"NO!" Race yelped. "No dirty! Mush is not dirty!"

And Blink just smiled knowingly and didn't say anything else about it.

"So..." Blink gave a side look to Spot. "How was it?" Spot nodded, and grinned. "Yeah, I knew it would be."

Race started to pout.

They finally reached study hall, and Blink entered in a very dramatic, and kind of flamboyant fashion, but something about is was kind of masculine. Blink was like that. Spot sat down next to him, and then stole a small boy with glasses's chair, and gave it to Race.

"Uh...but that's his--"

"Do I care?" Spot shrugged. "Hey, Stewie? Do you care?"

The boy tried to speak up, but Blink broke in. "He don't care."

The teacher glared at them, and then looked at Race. "So. Who are _you_?"

"I'm Tony."

"...Tony...?"

Race just stared at him, and the teacher sighed. "You signed in downstairs?"

"Yeah."

"_Fine_." The teacher rolled his eyes and decided ignoring was easier than anything else.

"So Blink... What are we gonna do at the audition tonight?" Race finally asked.

"The audition tonight?" He paused, then, "HOLY SHIT THAT'S TONIGHT."

"Jesus, don't ANY of you guys look at the date?" Spot muttered.

"Oh my GOD oh my GOD oh my GOD it's TONIGHT and we're not PREPARED and--"

"Blink!" Spot hissed. "Calm the fuck down!"

Blink gave him a panicked look. "What if we suck?"

"You won't suck!" Spot snapped, then amended, "Well, Tony might suck my--"

"Spot!" Race yelped indignantly. "For a guy who claims to hate PDAs you sure _talk_ a lot."

"This is school, it doesn't fucking count."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't give a flying fuck what people here think of me." Spot gave him a challenging look.

"Yeah?" Race asked.

"Yeah."

Race smirked. "Then make out with me. Here. In front of... everyone."

"Uhhhhh." Spot hesitated and glanced around, and they discovered they were speaking loudly enough that they were getting weird looks. "Like... _here_ here?"

"Yes, _right_ here."

"You know, if you'd gotten up earlier we could have had sex before breakfast."

"Well, I didn't. So are you scared of PDAs or aren't you?"

"I'm not _scared_ of _anything_."

"Then--"

And Spot grabbed Race's shirt, pulled him close, and kissed him in front of Blink, the teacher, and everyone else. And it was a good kiss, too, so Race didn't let him pull away for quite awhile.

Finally, they were yanked apart by a very angry looking study hall teacher indeed, and he glared down at them. Spot grinned cheesily, and Race, suddenly shy, looked down at his hands, almost tempted to start whistling.

He was surprised when no one shouted anything about 'fags', but when he got a good look at the class he wasn't too surprised.

It was probably a good thing he got a look at the classroom then, because the teacher shoved Spot and him out in the hall, slamming the door behind him.

"Mr. Conlon, did you bring in this boy merely for... for _that_?"

Spot smiled. "Now, sir, you know me better than that."

"If you did it to piss me off..."

"_So_ close."

Race just was silent.

Then the teacher turned on him. "You have no right to come waltzing in here and..." He lost some of his steam. "And...oh for chrissake, just don't do it again and get back in there, I'm sick of this."

Race blinked.

This school would take some getting used to.

* * *

B: Well. We were _joking_ when we said it would take a year to update, but, uh... Joke's on us! My computer broke, or this would have been up about three weeks ago.

F: I was going through serious B withdrawal. I thought I was gonna die. It was just awful.

B: And _I_ was going through internet withdrawal. You want awful, try that one.

F: _Ahem._ and what about ME?

B: I mean, I missed her, too. Deeply.

F: That's better.

B: Soooooo, we'll try to be faster with the next one. It might not work, but... you're used to that by now, right?

F: The longer the wait, the beettterrr the resuuuullttsss.

-celebrated with lemon gelato-


	21. Changing For You

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

She said, "I know what it's like to be dead,  
I know what it is to be sad."  
And she's making me feel like I've never been born

I said, "Who put all those things in your head?  
Things that make me feel that I'm mad,  
And you're making me feel like I've never been born."

She said, "You don't understand what I said,"  
I said "No, no, no, you're wrong,  
When I was a boy everything was right,  
Everything was right."

I said, "Even though you know what you know  
I know that I'm ready to leave  
'Cause you're making me feel like I've never been born."  
-The Beatles, _She Said, She Said_

**_Chapter Twenty-One: Changing For You_**

"You have fries and GRAVY for lunch?" Race shuddered and made retching noises at Blink. "That's _gross_." 

"You got any other suggestions?" Blink asked, sprinkling salt from a packet over his poutine. They were seated at a long table, filled with students, and Race, too hungry for words, gazed at the other lunches in hope of something non-cafeteria.

Spot was drinking a soda, Jack was wolfing down his second cheeseburger, and Dutchy had a huge packet of Skittles.

"For me?" Race asked, holding out his hand.

Dutchy shot a look at Spot, and then winked at Race. "Yeah, help yourself."

"You _rock_."

"I sure do."

"Fucker," Spot shot at Dutchy. "See if I ever hook up with you drunk again."

"Shut it," Race said, mouth full of Skittles. Itey handed over a muffin.

"I can't eat all four, I never can. Mama has this thing with muffins." Itey smiled, then bit his lip. "Tony, do you really mean I won't be able to see Sophie?"

Race sighed a little. "I... I really don't know. Dad liked you. But... I think he blames sort of all of you for me being gay, and... yeah, that's not something he'd get over."

Itey's face fell, and Race continued hastily, "But look, Sophie's a really independent girl and she has no problem lying to him, so I'm _sure_ she'll see you again."

"I don't want her to get in trouble."

"She won't." Race shrugged. "She's smarter than me."

"Yeah, but who's not?" Jack replied, and Race chucked a Skittle at him. "She's hotter, too."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "You looking at boys now, Jacky?"

"Oooooonly David," Blink sang, and Jack glared at the two of them.

"Hey, it's not our fault you're totally gay," Blink pointed out.

"I - am - not - gay!"

There was the sound of someone clearing her throat delicately, and the group looked up to see Jessica Craig holding a cafeteria tray and looking shy. "Uh..." she said quietly. "May I... Sit?"

Jack grinned and slid over on his chair, only to be hit with a banana peel from behind moments later; he whirled around and saw Sarah at the table behind him, glaring. He shrugged sheepishly.

Jessica smiled and reached for an empty chair from the nearest table, pulled it up between Spot and Dutchy.

Dutchy suddenly looked a little like he was being strangled.

"So what brings the head cheerleader to our table of queers and social failures?" Blink asked cheerfully, propping his head up on his hand.

"I am _not_ a social failure," Jack muttered.

"But you sure are queer," Spot said.

Jessica blushed a little. "I just... Uh..." She threw Spot a look, and Spot groaned. "Wanted to... Try and hang out with some different people. I mean, since I'm not going to sit with _Steve_ any more. And you all seem... Nice."

She glanced around and stopped on Dutchy. "I don't know any of you very well..." She raised an eyebrow. "But aren't you that kid who...?"

"OD'd on coke? Yeah. That's me! Drug free for over two weeks now!"

She bit her lip and he suddenly looked awkward and stared down at the table and she went back to Spot. "So... Sean... how did you and Tony meet?"

Race still had his mouth full of Skittles, so he glanced over at Spot. Spot also looked as if he was about to high tail it and run, but Race had a firm grip on his thigh.

"Through his boyfriend," he said, and jerked his thumb at Blink. "He's their drummer."

Jessica nodded and smiled a little at Race. "You...drum?"

"Yeah." He swallowed the Skittles.

"You good?"

"Yeah, I rock."

Jessica furrowed her brows and Spot smacked the back of his head. Jack was gazing lustfully at her, and just as he was about to go in for the kill, Jessica spoke up again. "Sean, can I... talk to you for a second?" There was a silence and no one said anything. "_Alone_?"

"Uuuhhh..." Spot glanced at Race, who shrugged. Then he looked around the table, and Itey nodded his head in a mother-like fashion, and Jack and Dutchy looked as if they wanted to shoot him. "...Sure?" he said.

Jessica stood up, and started out of the cafeteria. Spot quickly followed, really wondering what the whole thing was about.

They stopped just outside the doors, and Jessica folded her arms across her chest. "Sean, listen, I know you have a boyfriend, if that's what you call him, and I know you say you're gay but...but, I don't know, can't you be bisexual?"

Spot blinked. "Okay, uh...why do you care, for one? And for another--"

Jessica cut him off by touching his elbow. "I really...really like you, Sean."

Spot wasn't very good at this.

"What the _fuck_?"

"I..." She trailed off. "You're just so unconcerned about... about all of the high school bullshit and you don't let assholes like Steve worry you. You act like a jerk but I _know_ it's not really you, that you care and just don't want to get hurt." She looked him in the eye. "I really admire how real you are."

And he answered with the first thing that came to mind: "I'm real. I'm really, really, really gay."

She pulled her hand away from his arm. "Sean..."

"Seriously. I like boys. My boyfriend's cock is--"

"Sean, _please_." Her voice broke a little and when Spot finally managed to look at her she was... Well, pretty clearly on the verge of tears.

"Oh, shit," he mumbled. "I didn't mean--I'm really fucking bad at talking to people. I just... Am... Gay."

"But we--"

"Yeah, I know. I was drunk and so were you, and I made myself do it to piss off your boyfriend because he decided to make me his own personal punching bag." He shrugged.

"So that's... all there was to it?" she asked, her voice wavering.

He nodded.

"I--I have to go," she declared, and he could see her starting to cry as she whirled around and ran off.

And he stared after her, and actually felt genuinely _bad_. Which surprised him, because he wasn't supposed to care. "I'm such a pussy," he muttered, then sighed and walked after her.

He found her going towards the girls washrooms, which wasn't too much of a surprise, but it wasn't like Spot knew a lot about girls anyway. He didn't even know what he was gonna say to her; why the hell did he have to care?

Because she was an okay girl, that's why. He groaned inwardly.

"Jessica!" Spot called, and quickened his step. "Jessica, come on, wait up a sec."

She stopped running, but she didn't turn around to face him when he caught up with her.

"Hey," Spot pushed her shoulder slightly. "Hey, turn around."

She did, and her eyes were red and he really shouldn't have asked her that. "What?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"Uh..." he shook his head. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I only say nice things about you behind your back."

She was silent. That didn't make her feel better. Spot swore and searched his brain. "Shit, I am so fucking _bad_ at this," he muttered.

"I noticed."

"Uh--It's--I think you're cool." He paused, then decided to run with it. "I do, and I fucking hate Steve and you're so much better than him, you actually care about people and--and that's really cool, it's way better than I can do so--so yeah, I think you're a nice girl but unfortunately... Yeah. Boys."

She sniffled and reached for one of the paper towels by the girls' sinks. "My make up is running," she said.

"You look good anyway."

"You don't like girls."

"I also can tell ugly from not ugly. You're not ugly." He hesitated. "I mean, you're pretty."

"You don't have to lie, Sean."

"I'm not lying! I think you're--uh--see, if I liked girls? I'd totally want you."

She dabbed at her running mascara. "You don't like girls... Even a little?"

"Nope."

"Damn." She sighed. "The nice boys are all taken or gay."

"Not _all_ of them."

"Name _one_."

He hesitated, then said sort of randomly, "...Dutchy?" Because Dutchy _really_ needed to get laid, and anyway, his crush on Jess was infamous.

"The coke head? I don't think that he counts."

Spot shrugged. "You didn't say no drugs, just nice and straight."

"Straight? I thought he was dating that godawful Bruce guy."

"Uh... Yeah. But he's bi, so... It's close, right?"

"Boys are so stupid," she mumbled.

"We really, really are. That's why I don't like girls. They're smarter than me. I feel inferior."

She looked away from the mirror in the bathroom and towards him, standing leaning awkwardly against a sink, and smiled a little bit. "See? I said you were nicer than you act."

Spot blinked. "No, I'm a dick."

She smiled a little more, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're not."

Spot didn't hug her back, but he gave her hip a little pat and didn't exactly push away.

When she let him go, she was smiling again, and Spot was feeling normal once more. Normal being, not needing to be nice. At all.

"Can I go?" he asked.

Jessica laughed, and crossed her arms. "I'm _coming_."

"...Why?"

"You said something about Dutchy?"

Spot put his hands in his pockets and grinned. "He's so gonna love me."

"But... Not _really,_ though, right?"

"Nah, we got over that."

Jessica didn't ask.

So they headed back to the cafeteria, and people were kind of gaping at them, and it was Blink who looked at Jessica and then at Spot and then demanded, "You made her CRY? You DICK!"

Spot glared at him, grabbed one of his french fries and flicked it into his face. Blink responded by reaching across the table and smacking him.

"She's too nice for you," Itey mused.

"And too _female_," Spot added pointedly, and grabbed Race's hand to prove his point.

Race smiled a little and ducked his head.

Jessica sighed. "Well, I'll get over him," she said.

"It's not that hard," Dutchy mumbled, then turned bright red and announced, "I have to... go... somewhere else now," and stood up.

Spot reached behind Jessica, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back down to the table. She giggled. Dutchy's face turned an even _brighter_ red. But he sat and stared at the table and ignored everyone else.

Everyone else found it too amusing for words, and Jessica smiled a little. "So... What kind of band _is_ it?"

They spent the rest of the lunch period explaining it to her, talking excitedly. And Spot had to admit that, for a girl, Jessica wasn't _so_ bad. He just hoped he wouldn't end up like Mush to Jessica's Sophia--he had a boyfriend and didn't need a wife on top of it.

Especially not because, as he remembered a few periods later, his 'wife' had a very jealous ex-boyfriend.

As the lunch period ended, Spot grabbed hold of Race's wrist and dragged him down the hallway. He didn't notice Jessica coming up beside him, and she nudged his side. "Hey." Spot gave her a look and she rolled her eyes. "Just wanted to know if I could crash your band rehearsal?" she asked Race.

Race looked a little startled that she wasn't speaking to him, and he cleared his throat. "Uuuh...sure. Why?"

Jessica shrugged. "Dutchy likes me."

Spot snorted and gave her back a pat. "Go to class, blondie."

She winked at the two of them, and hurried down the hall. Spot smirked down at Race. "Dutchy so owes me."

"Yeah," Race's voice trailed off. "Uh, Spot, do you--"

"No. I'm gay."

"Can you blame me for checking on you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because," Spot shrugged. "You should trust me. We should trust each other."

"I do!"

"Then we don't have a problem." Spot slung an arm around his shoulder. "I'd never cheat on you, okay?"

Race blushed and smiled. "Okay. Me neither."

As the day continued, Spot seemed to get a little more used to having Race around--having a boyfriend in public. The day was full of quick kisses, stolen glances, and holidng hands under the desk (which Race found adorable because it seemed so un-Spot-like), and by eighth period they were skipping class to make out in the library.

Racetrack had never been to a public school in his life. All he had to compare this to was a string of private schools for the children of wealthy, conservative Catholics; and he was downright certain that he'd have been expelled for this in his own school. It was a scandal when a girl and boy held hands, let alone kissed (which they would be suspended for) but two boys making out...

He pushed the thought from his mind; there was too much bigotry in his own family for him to worry about it at school just yet. Instead, he decided, Spot's school was awesome and if he ended up attending it, well, that would be okay, really.

Ninth period, Spot had gym. Spot hated gym; he had it with Steve Olsen and the coach didn't really care of Steve used it as an excuse to shove him around--but when Spot shoved back he found himself in trouble. It _sucked_. So he really had no interest in attending, and he and Race wandered the hallways for a few minutes, until Spot walked past his English teacher's room, remembering that she had to leave early for a conference that day.

She hadn't locked the door.

A grin spread over his face and he pulled Race into the room, shut the door behind them, and practically shoved Race down onto a desk.

Race raised an eyebrow, but didn't object.

Spot started to, of course, suck at Race's neck, and Race moaned a little as he trailed his hands down Spot's chest.

"Spot," Race mumbled. "We're like, gonna get caught by a janitor or something..."

"Shut up." Spot kissed him hard on the mouth.

"But," Race said between kisses. "If we get mmmm...." Race wrapped his arms around Spot's neck. "Screw it, fuck me."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Oooh. Midgito gets feisty,"

"Don't call me that."

"It's so true."

"HEY!" Race shoved him. "It is NOT...is it?"

Spot shrugged and went to pulling off Race's shirt. "Guess you'll never know."

"Spoo-oott."

"Don't whine."

"Spoooo-ooott."

"For fuck's sake, you're ruining it."

"Spo-oo-"

"SHUT UP."

Race's answer was distinctly unflattering. Not that Spot knew that, because his answer was also in Italian.

Spot hesitated for a second, then, "Okay, fine, talk in Italian."

"Hah." Race smirked, then winced a little as Spot bit him. "Not so fucking _hard_."

Spot trailed a hand over the outside of Race's jeans. "_You're_ fucking hard."

"Yeah, so fuck me already."

"Demanding..." Spot mumbled.

"_Your_ idea."

"Nah, I just pulled you in here..."

"Spot. Do you want to talk or do you want to screw?"

"Since when are _you_ so fucking horny?" Spot demanded, his hand still on Race's crotch.

"Since I'm not in the goddamn closet anymore."

"Fine," Spot agreed, and began to messily unbutton Race's jeans.

Race moaned, and Spot stuck his hand roughly over his mouth as he pulled off Race's pants. "Jesus," Spot said, sitting up. "You're gonna have to switch places with me at some point, 'cause I'm doing all the work."

Race grabbed the front of his collar and kissed him, pulling him down onto the desk on top of him. There wasn't anymore talking. Granted, Race was still having a hard time keeping quiet, but Spot kept his hand over his mouth most of the time. Until Race had to turn over.

* * *

Soon, Race was panting, and sitting on the desk, while Spot (also panting) was throwing on his pants and doing up the buckle of his belt.

Spot glanced over his shoulder and his boyfriend and grinned. "You better get dressed. I mean, _I'M_ up and at 'em and I was doing everything,"

Race rolled his eyes. "Shut _up_..." then he grinned. "God, you're so fucking hot I can hardly..."

Spot nodded his head. "It's true."

"I so owe you sex in the car."

"You also owe me DRIVING the car."

"We'll see."

"Your car is fucking sexy." Spot handed Race his shirt, then grabbed it back, and handed Race his own shirt instead. Race gave him a strange look.

"...This is gonna be too tight for me to wear."

"Yeah, 'cause I really hate the idea of you wearing a skin tight shirt." Spot smirked.

"Seriously, I'd stretch it. Give me my shirt."

"Nah." Spot shrugged. "I wanna see if anyone notices."

"By 'anyone' you mean 'Blink,' don't you?"

"...Maybe."

"What is the deal with you two?" Race demanded, then sighed a little and pulled on Spot's shirt. It was just as tight as he'd assumed, and Spot looked quite appreciative of the fact. Enough so that Race almost blushed.

Finally, Spot commented, "They had sex first. Blink was really smug. So sex in a classroom--"

"I can't believe you just screwed me so you could one-up Blink."

"Could be worse."

"How?"

"I could have _not_ just screwed you." Spot smirked.

Race shoved him a little. "Ass," he accused.

"Sure am. I need a fucking cigarette."

"Ught," Race said pointedly. "You know those are bad for you, right?"

"No, somehow I'd managed to miss that." Spot rolled his eyes.

"They make your breath disgusting."

"And yet, you kiss me anyway."

"Maybe I ought to stop that, then."

Spot gave him a _look_. "Yeah? I dare you." He smirked.

"Hey, I could if I tried..."

"Nah, you want me too much."

"But your breath is gross."

"_Fine_, I'll start buying mints or gum or something."

"Or you could quit smoking."

"Drop dead, Midget Boy."

Race sighed, as Spot headed towards the main doors of the school. "It's _cold_ today, Spot," he whined. "I don't wanna stand in the cold drizzly weather while you smoke."

"Bitch."

"Spoooooooot."

"_Fine_. Itey's got a study hall, he'll be in the practice room where we were making out earlier; go bother him. I'll go find you in a few minutes."

"_Thank_ you."

"Yeah, yeah." Spot rolled his eyes, but didn't object when Race kissed him quickly and headed off to find Itey. Spot actually sort of smiled watching him go, then walked off towards the school parking lot, digging around in his pocket for a cigarette and lighter.

It wasn't until after he lit up that he discovered he wasn't the only one skipping gym that afternoon.

Standing by his gorgeous red sports car was Steve Olson, and three of his friends were just jumping out of the car.

Spot could have turned around and walked back into the school without them noticing him, but that wouldn't have been a very Spot thing to do. He wasn't about to let Steve Olson turn him into a whiny little girl.

Spot just leaned against Jack's van and lit his cigarette, letting time do it's own thing. Finally, he felt someone shove his shoulder, and he glanced up. Steve was staring down at him, looking absolutely too fucking sexy, with a frown. His friends weren't far behind.

"C'n I help you?" Spot snapped, his speech muffled by the cigarette.

Steve didn't say anything, but he shoved Spot again. Spot would have shoved back, but he realized with regret that he had to keep this from boiling into a fight. He'd been in too many fights, and the last thing he needed was for his social worker to decide he was too messed up and fight-prone to be adopted.

When Steve shoved him again, Spot growled under his breath and dodged out of his way. "Fuck you; what'dya want?"

"You fucking faggot," Steve snapped. "Jess wouldn't fucking stop talking about you through the entire break up."

"What's your point?"

"My POINT is," Steve leaned his face down into Spot's. Spot could smell his breath. "You fucked my girl."

Spot raised his eyebrows, staring into Steve's eyes defiantly. "Yeah, we've been through this buddy. And she's not your girl."

"Not any_more_."

"Yeah, well, breaks my heart. _Really_," Spot shoved his hands in his pockets, and let the smoke seep out of his mouth and into Steve's face. "Speaking of faggots, I couldn't help but notice your groupies standing behind you, all rarin' to go when ya get horny, eh?"

It took Steve a moment to register what Spot had said, and when he did, he got _pissed_. "Fucker!" Steve shoved him, hard, and Spot stumbled. His cigarette fell out of his mouth, and Spot swore as he ground the remains of it with his sneaker.

"Don't _touch_ me," Spot said.

"What was that?" Steve opened his arms. "You wanna go?"

"Yeah, _dude_, I _totally_ wanna," Spot rolled his eyes. "I'm not a fucking pussy, don't go talking big when--"

Spot was cut off; a fist slammed into the right side of his face.

He fell backwards onto his ass. "Fuck!" Spot snapped. He shot back up on his feet, his hand flying up to his face and touching where Steve had punched him. "You asshole!"

Steve's friends were standing close behind him now, but Steve pushed them back.

"Screw off!" he told them. "The pussy's mine, I could have taken him when I was four."

"Yeah, well..." Spot spat blood out of his mouth. "When you were four, you were busy fucking your daddy."

Then Steve jumped at him again, but went sprawling back when Spot punched him swift and hard in the jaw.

Most people at school, and most especially Steve Olsen, didn't know a lot about Spot. They knew he was a foster kid, and that he was living with Jack; they knew he was gay, that he was friends with the Other Gay Kid and the Druggie; they knew he swore a lot and smoked and acted like a badass.

They didn't know he could back up his attitude with his fists.

When Spot had first moved in with Jack, his social worker had said he had 'severe behavioral disorders', which really just meant that Spot had gone through a phase where he'd been extraordinarily violent. He'd picked fights with anyone who looked twice at him--classmates, teachers, foster parents and siblings, doctors, anyone who came near him. He'd just _enjoyed _it on some level; doling out pain felt good, and on some sick level, so did receiving it.

He hadn't stopped until he'd been warned he'd be put into an institution, instead of a foster home, if he didn't shape up. So he had, grudgingly, though he and Steve had gotten into a few fights when he'd first moved into Jack's. They'd both won and lost some, but it didn't help that Steve _always_ had his cronies there to help out.

So really, Steve didn't worry too much about fighting a skinny kid with a pretty, girly face. But he had no idea just how far Spot could go when he was pushed. Because at the moment, Spot had a _lot_ of pent up rage. Living with the mafia's gun to his head, fighting with Jack, Race getting kicked out of his house... He had an awful lot to be angry about.

Steve Olsen didn't know that.

So Steve punched towards him again, and he ducked and drove an elbow hard into Steve's stomach, and as Steve doubled over brought his hand up and into Steve's nose. Steve yelled with pain, and Spot shoved him away and tried to get hold of his temper. "Leave me the fuck alone," he snarled. "Or I swear to God I'll fucking _kill_ you."

Steve straightened up and discovered that he was bleeding from his nose and his lip, and that he was having trouble inhaling. He didn't know that Spot had been _careful_ with that elbow, because Spot knew full well where to place a blow to make a stomach or spleen rupture. His father had done that to his mother once; she'd been in the hospital for four days afterwards.

Sometimes he was amazed at how long it had taken the police to find his father. But he didn't waste time thinking about that, because Steve decided to ignore his warning and after spending just a moment to catch his breath, he rushed _back_ at Spot, throwing punches and kicks without thought, only trying for strength.

Spot was a smarter fighter than that, but the way Steve was flailing he couldn't land an actual punch. She he mostly dodged and ducked and barely actually got hit, until Steve managed, by pure luck, to slam a fist into the side of Spot's skull, sending him reeling into Jack's van. The handle dug into his spine and before he could recover, Steve had him pinned there, his head still reeling; Steve might not have known a lot about Spot, but he was smart enough not to give Spot a chance to recover.

He slammed his fist into Spot's stomach, and Spot doubled over, wheezing. Steve's friends were huddled over on the sidelines, cheering Steve on, throwing insults at Spot.

Spot was getting increasingly more pissed off.

Any normal person would have been sprawled out on the pavement, backing out of the fight, all winded and bloodied.

Spot wasn't normal.

Spot was borderline schizophrenic; Spot was unhappy, and Spot's life, up until now, sucked.

He was _not_ normal.

He stood up again, and before Steve Olsen even knew what hit him, smoked him clear across the face.

Steve stumbled back and went sprawling onto the pavement.

The bell rang then, and students started filing outside. Steve's friends had started to chant, "Fight, fight, fight!" over and over, and before Spot knew it, there was a crowd. He couldn't see any of his friends, or Jack or Race. But he didn't have much of a chance to look because Steve was pretty much crazy by now. He was humiliated for one thing, and his nose was most likely broken.

So he started provoking Spot even more than he already had.

"Fucking fag," Steve spat. "You know what you're fucking worth at this school? _Nothing_. Everyone knows you're a fucking criminal, and that Kelly and his mom only took you in because they felt sorry for you!"

Spot dove at him, punching him wildly in the stomach. Steve answered back by dodging so Spot slid past him, and then shoved Spot into Jack's van again.

Spot was back on his feet quickly. "Better than being a limp dicked rich boy who can't even keep his girlfriend satisfied for _one night_. Yeah, she had to run to this so called 'fag,'" Spot smirked, through the blood and dirt on his face. "Funny how that works out, huh?"

By now, Steve was repelling Spot's insults about Jessica. "That all you got on me, Conlon? A lay? Yeah, well, I got as many chicks as I want. I can name about one person who doesn't play around with your scrawny ass because they feel sorry for you." Steve paused and then laughed. "Oh no wait, I can't. Bastard."

Spot glared. "I'm not a bastard."

"You're an orphan, then."

"Shut up!"

Now Spot was getting pissed, and the crowd was watching with awe, and Spot lost it. He dove at Steve, and Steve didn't see it coming. Spot was on top of him, punching him over and over.

Then he felt arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him back.

Spot didn't have to look to know it was Jack grabbing him; unfortunately, no one held back Steve and after he got to his feet, he got in one more hard blow to Spot's face, shoving Spot backwards, which made Jack trip and they both hit his van, hard. Jack grunted and was glad, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Spot was so skinny, because he'd basically taken the brunt of the fall for both of them. And he was half-tempted to take a swing at Steve himself, seeing how bloodied his brother was, but he didn't even have a chance.

"What the _fuck_?"

Race's accent, Jack noted vaguely, was thicker when he was pissed off.

"Tony--" Jack started, but was cut off.

"Who the fuck are _you_?" Steve demanded, as Race shoved his way through the crowd to stand next to Spot, who was _still_ being held back by Jack. Because Jack knew full well that the second his grip loosened, Spot would be back on Steve, and he also knew that with his mother trying to get Spot adopted, they couldn't afford to have the fight end with someone getting hospitalized.

Race threw a glance at Steve, and then a glance at Spot, then answered flatly, "His boyfriend." And he didn't pause before throwing a punch into Steve's already bloody face.

Steve swore loudly and was down on the pavement again. But this time he was just holding his nose and swearing over and over, not getting up to retaliate.

His friends, on the sidelines, were backing off. Their main man had had the crap beat out of him by a 'fag' about the size of Calista Flockhart, and then punched in the nose by his boyfriend.

Still, Andrew, Steve's best friend, yelled at Race, and then Race was about to run at him, but Itey managed to grab his arm. Race glared at him, and yanked his arm away. He kicked at Steve on the ground, and turned to Spot, who wasn't looking too good.

"Come on, let's get the hell out of here," Jack muttered, and unlocked the van door. He ushered Spot in, and the adrenaline was starting to wear off because Spot was suddenly _feeling_ the fight. Itey started for his own car, and Race hesitated, the strode towards where Steve was still lying, crouched down next to him, and put a hand on the pavement next to his face.

"You touch him again, you're a dead man," Racetrack said quietly, and the tone of voice made it clear that it wasn't an idle threat. And it wasn't, because for just a second Race forgot that he'd been disowned, and was seriously wondering what he'd have to do for the Family to get a hit on Steve's life.

He walked back to the van, got in, and slammed the door shut. Even as he sat down, Jack took off, and Race turned his attention to Spot.

Spot looked _terrible_.

He was trying to act tough, but it wasn't working too well. He spat some blood into his palm, and then wiped in on his shirt. Race winced and slid next to him.

"You okay?"

"I'm _fine_," Spot snapped. "I kicked his ass."

"Shut up!" Jack snapped. "Look at you, you're really beaten up, moron. Mom is gonna freak."

"Thanks for the concern," Spot said sarcastically.

"You know I'm concerned, idiot! You know you shouldn't have picked a fight--"

"I didn't!" Spot sat up in his seat. "I didn't do a fucking thing, he started it. He threw the first punch!" Spot blinked a little. "Oh _god_..."

Jack slowed down, and glanced back at him. Race attempted to touch Spot, but Spot shoved him away, annoyed.

Jack sighed. "You look fucking terrible..."

Spot blinked a little, and his head was flopping up and down. "Fuckin'... feel sick."

"You gonna hurl?" Race asked.

Spot nodded.

Jack stopped the van as quickly as he could and ushered Spot out onto the side of the road, where Spot did, indeed, hurl. He was probably doing something awful to some poor person's lawn, but didn't care. He was too busy being sick and wishing he'd stop bleeding already...

"Your shirt is a mess," Jack noted, then, "That's not your shirt."

"Fuck," Race muttered. "You got my shirt all bloody."

"Yeah." Spot wiped his mouth with his hand, which really only smeared blood across his face. "Well, I got myself pretty fucking bloody too, if that helps."

"It doesn't," Race answered, and helped Spot back to the van. Or tried to, anyway; Spot pulled out of his grasp and walked defiantly by himself. Race threw Jack a slightly confused look.

Jack shrugged. "He's gotta feel like he won himself. Like he didn't need you to get in that last punch."

"But he's gonna pass out--"

"He'd rather pass out than be a pussy." Jack paused, with his hand on the van, and decided _not_ to make a comment about how maybe Racetrack didn't know Spot so well after all. He let it sit as a personal victory, and after that, realized he was a _bit_ less jealous of Spot's relationship with Race.

* * *

Itey hurried into Blink's garage, looking worried, and scared, and Blink and Dutchy watched him, confused.

"What's up?" Blink asked.

"You both left last period?" Itey asked.

"I did," Blink said. "Dutchy came here right after--what's wrong?"

Itey took a deep breath. "Spot got in a big fight with Steve Olsen."

Blink's eyes widened, and Dutchy whistled. "Fist fight?" Dutchy asked. Itey nodded. "Who won?"

"Spot?"

"NICE!" Blink cheered. "He doing okay?"

"He looks pretty gross..." Itey frowned. "And Jack and Tony are pissed."

"Tony must not have liked seeing that."

"He didn't see most of it; by the time we got there it was basically done. I think they woulda stopped, but Tony..." He trailed off.

"Tony _what_?" Dutchy demanded.

"Tony knocked Steve on his ass, probably would have gone after Andrew too, but we got him to leave."

"Wish I could've seen that," Blink mused. Itey looked on disapprovingly. "What? Okay, yeah, violence is bad; Steve Olsen spent all of ninth grade finding new ways to make my life a living hell and he's--you KNOW how many times he's--I fucking _hate_ him."

"I know," Itey sighed. "Spot's not looking so good. I hope Tony is calm enough to play, we're gonna need to start packing up; Jack said we could use his van."

"Start packing--" Blink stopped abruptly. "Shit. We've still got our audition!" He stood and started for the door. "Come on; if Spot's hurt they'll go straight home, we should meet them." He took off towards Jack's house, Itey and Dutchy following, and they arrived as the van pulled in.

Blink was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. When Jack and Race got out of the car, he wasn't surprised to see Spot insist on getting himself out. He winced. Spot's face was slightly caked with dry blood, and the right side of his face was black and blue.

"Shit..." Blink shook his head. "Spot, are you--"

"Look." He pointed at his face. "Think this is bad? Steve's nose is broken. His fucking beautiful nose. I rock."

Blink grinned. "You so kick ASS!"

"I know!"

Blink threw his arm around Spot in a congratulatory fashion, and Spot, as inconspicuously as he could, leaned slightly into him, growing faint.

Jack and Race exchanged slightly annoyed looks. Why Spot chose _Blink_ to collapse on was beyond either of them. But when it came down to it, Blink probably knew how to handle the guy best.

"So..." Spot mumbled. "Don't you have an audition to get ready for?"

"Yeah, but Denise will kick our collective asses if you don't get you cleaned up first," Blink answered. "And she's scary when she's pissed."

"How would _you_ know?" Spot demanded.

"Because when we were kids, Jack and Dutchy and I managed to break her television." Blink laughed a little. "Davey told on us."

"Oh my god, I'd forgotten that!" Jack snickered, and opened the door. Denise wasn't home from work yet, which was probably for the best, so he just reprised his role from the previous evening by digging out ice for Spot's face, and a damp towel to get the blood off.

Spot took the towel, but Racetrack grabbed it from him and practically shoved him down onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Hold still, Spot," he demanded, and began to gently dab at the dried and drying blood.

"I can do it my_self_, fucker!"

"I know you _can_, now shut up and let me feel useful." Race shoved Spot's hand off of his own as Spot tried to grab the towel.

"Tony--" Spot started.

"Goddamnit, Spot, let me _help_ you," Race muttered. "And anyway, you so owe me, you got blood all over my shirt and that shit's not gonna come out."

Spot muttered something under his breath, but no one could hear it. He stopped struggling, though, and let Racetrack return to gently helping him clean up.

Spot sat there, moping, and finally seemed as if he was a little more conscious now. He leaned into his chair, and let Race wipe the blood off of his face.

"Did Jess see?" Spot asked.

Jack smirked. "You have a fag hag."

Jack shut up when Spot kicked his shin from his seat. Itey winced and shook his head. "She didn't see, Spot. But it'll be around the school by tomorrow morning... you know, it doesn't look so bad now that the blood's all washed off."

It was true. Spot's bruise on the right side of his face was awful, but otherwise, the situation didn't look too bad. His lip was slightly torn up, and he was still spitting blood out onto his hand and wiping it on Race's shirt, but he didn't look half as bad as Steve did.

The doorbell rang, and all of the boys jumped. "Jesus, is your mom--" Dutchy started, and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Why would Mom ring the doorbell?" Jack stood up. "I got it."

He left the kitchen, and Itey took his seat. Everyone was silent as Race finished wiping up Spot's face.

Spot was starting to kind of look like himself again. He had his scowl back on, but he still looked kind of ready to pass out any minute. When Race sat next to him, Spot dropped his head onto his shoulder and sighed.

"Tony,"

"Yeah?"

"Fucker chipped one of my teeth."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, a back one."

"It hurt?"

"_Yes_."

Race just grinned and slung his arm around his boyfriend's shoulder. Then Jack appeared in the kitchen, and behind him was Sophia.

Itey jumped out of his seat. "Sophie, what--"

"_Rosetta_." Race made a face. "You shouldn't be here, how did you--"

"Shut up," she snapped. "Dad doesn't know. I'm at symphony tonight. Even though it was cancelled. Okay?" She bit her lip. "I got directions from Davey, he should show up sooner or later--Spot, what happened?"

Spot was about to answer, but she cut him off. "I came to check on Tony and I'm coming to see your audition and all." She looked at Itey. "Hey."

"Hey..." he said quietly.

Race stood up, letting Spot rest back in his seat, and he hurried over to his sister, slipping his arm around her waist. "Hey, you know you shouldn't--"

"Oh don't be sappy, dork. It's fine," she smiled. "Dad has no idea that I don't always do what he says. I'm home free." She frowned again, and went over to Spot. "SO what happened?"

So Race mumbled, "Dad's not the only bigot in the world and Spot has self-restraint issues."

"Fuck you."

"See, it's funny, 'cause if you _hadn't_ my _shirt_ wouldn't be so damn bloody."

Sophia started to answer, then stopped because she decided she didn't want to know. On the other hand, Blink had no such considerations. "Your shirt--" He drew a rather quick conclusion. "Jesus, sex in _school_? That's gross."

"It was hot," Spot mumbled, and put the ice to his bruise and winced a little from the cold.

The door bell rang again.

"Who the hell...?" Jack muttered, knowing that David and Mush wouldn't bother with the bell any more than Denise would. "Dutchy, you wanna go tell whoever it is that we don't want fucking girl scout cookies?"

Dutchy nodded and left the room to go answer the door, and as he swung it open, found himself face-to-face with Jessica. He wasn't sure, but suspected he made a slight 'eep!' noise, and knew his face was turning bright red. "Uh... Hey."

"Hey, Dutchy. I... I saw Jack's van here and I heard about the fight and... Is Sean okay?"

"He's, uh... Pretty beat up..."

There was a pause.

"Can I come _in_?" she asked patiently.

Dutchy nodded and stood aside, then shut the door behind her and led the way back into the kitchen. Within the last minute since he'd walked out, Spot had shed his shirt, which Itey was rinsing in the sink, and Race was massaging his shoulders while he kept the ice on his face. Spot's ribcage and stomach all were also interesting shades of blue and purple. Jack was standing by worriedly, and Sophia was sitting at the table, saying something in Italian.

They all gave Jessica strange looks as she walked in.

"Jesus, Sean," she said, her eyes going wide. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fucking _spiffy_."

"Are you--Did you get into the fight because of... Me?"

"I got into the fight because your boyfriend punched me."

"_Ex_-boyfriend," she corrected.

"Whatever."

"Sean--"

"It's not your fault," he snapped, hating that he not only knew why she was worried, but that he cared. He wasn't _supposed_ to care. He felt like such a pussy. But... "He's a fucking bigot and he thought I was an easy target, and now he's got a broken nose and it's his _own_ damn fault."

"Broken nose?" Sophia interrupted, and threw Racetrack a sideways glance.

"Hey, _I_ only hit him once. Not my fault."

"Tony, you shouldn't be fighting--"

"I don't need you taking care of me, Sophia," he snapped.

"Are you hurt?" she demanded.

"_No_; I'm only fucking bruised from Dad, okay?" He slowed his hands on Spot's shoulders. "Some fucking day, huh. Look at the two of us."

"We _rock_," Spot answered. "Let's go fuck."

"Okay."

"TONY," Blink interrupted. "AUDITION."

Sophia closed her eyes and made a gagging noise. "God, you're my _brother_."

Race made a face at her. "I can't believe that ugly mass in front of me is my _sister_."

"Hey!" Itey reached over the table and smacked Race on the head. "Watch what you say."

Race smacked him back. "Screw you!"

Sophia rolled her eyes and smacked both Race and Itey on the heads simultaneously. "Would you both cut it out!?"

Itey whimpered and Race stuck his tongue out at her. Jessica smiled a little, and cleared her throat. "Are you... Sean's boyfriend's--"

"My name's Tony."

"Tony's sister?"

Sophia nodded, and then looked closely at Jessica. The two girls gave each other the once over, and finally Jessica extended her hand. "I'm Jessica."

Sophia grinned. "Sophia," and shook her hand.

Jack let out a snort. "This is so hot."

Race and Itey punched his shoulder.

Jack rolled his eyes, but really, he'd expected that. He straightened his shirt, and looked over at Spot. "You want some advil?" he offered.

"Ha. No." Because Spot didn't take medication, no matter how badly he needed it; not painkillers when he hurt and not the mood drugs his doctors prescribed because really, he wanted to be himself, not some drugged up, clouded _version_ of himself.

"Don't be so macho, Sean," Jessica scolded. "You must hurt like crazy."

"Nah, I'm just _dandy_." Spot rolled his eyes, then flicked Blink's shoulder. "You wanna go get me a shirt?"

"Our AUDITION--"

"Blink, go get him a shirt," Jack sighed. "Then you guys can talk music, when Spot's doing okay."

"I _am_ doing okay, I'm _cold_." Spot took the ice off his face to prove his point, only to have Race pick it up and put it back. Spot elbowed him in the side, but didn't object aloud.

Blink let out a frustrated, womanly shriek, and left the room to get Spot a shirt. Jack laughed, and when he saw Jessica and Sophia sit down, quickly took the seat between them before Itey and Dutchy could move an inch.

"So," he said. "Jess, I take it you're single now?"

She gave him an odd look, kind of like she was wondering why the hell he was talking, and then shrugged. "Yeah. I hear you're going with Sarah Jacobs?"

"So!" Jack turned to Sophia, the conversation with Jessica over. "Sophie, you figured out yet that Itey is nothing compared to a real man?"

"Fuck you!" Itey exclaimed.

Sophia snorted. "Right, Jack, that's hilarious. Really, I can't stop laughing. Look at me go." She smiled smugly.

Jack cleared his throat, and look away from Sophia. "Well uh... that was..."

"Dick," Itey mumbled.

"Ass," Dutchy snapped.

"Pussies," Jack answered.

Jessica rolled her eyes visibly. "You know, Jack," she mused, "I don't think I've ever met anyone like you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah; I've never seen anyone else get rejected quite so often. It's amazing you've got any self-esteem _left_."

Which made everyone else in the room start laughing, and Jack glared around at them in annoyance. "Yeah, it's not so hard, when you consider the people I'm _friends_ with," he muttered.

"Awwww. We love you too, Jack," Dutchy said between chuckles.

"Yeah, yeah." Jack shoved him a little.

Jessica smiled a little, then looked at Itey and Sophia. "So you two are...?"

"Mmmhmmm," Sophia answered, and reached for Itey's hand.

"Unfortunately," Race muttered, only to have his sister smack his shoulder.

Blink walked back into the room, t-shirt in hand, and tossed it at Spot. "Can we do something _productive_ now?!" he demanded.

"Someone's bitchy today," Dutchy noted.

"He's jealous 'cause I got laid at school." Spot smirked.

"Ewwwwwwww," Sophia answered. "Can we please, please, please never talk about your sex life again?"

Blink sighed and sank down at the table. "I miss Mush," he whined. "And our thing at the gym was WAY hotter than ANYTHING at school--"

"La la la, I can't hear you!" Sophia half-shrieked. "For the love of GOD, don't encourage him!"

Itey grinned. "You're so cute."

Sophia giggled.

"Don't encourage HIM!" Race shot back, elbowing his sister in the side. "Anyway, band, in the living room. The rest of you, shut up."

"Ooh, I like it when you order me around."

"Shut up, Dutchy."

"Yeah, asshole!" Spot punched Dutchy's arm. There really was a lot of violence going on, and Blink grabbed Race and Dutchy by the arm and dragged them out of the kitchen, barking orders at Itey to follow. Itey stumbled and then scrambled out of his chair to follow.

Jack, still sitting between Jessica and Sophia, grinned smugly. "Sooooo," he said, and the two girls groaned and took new seats next to Spot.

"We have no set list," Blink said in the living room. "We have no setlist and we're gonna _die_. We shouldn't even bother. We should just pretend we never--"

"Okay, drama queen, knock it off," Race answered. "We don't have... Much."

"We've got _nothing_," Blink insisted. "We're so not ready to play in public! We're gonna get laughed out of--"

"Blink, chill," Itey said.

"So they said three songs; preferably with variety," Race continued. "We must have at least three songs."

"The ballad for Sophie," Itey said. "I mean... If you guys think it's ready..."

"It's fine," Dutchy said.

"It's not--" Blink cut himself off. "It's not quite where I'd _like_ it to be. But it'll do."

"_Thanks_," Itey mumbled.

"No, no, I don't mean it like that. It's really good and you sound great but I suck on the keyboard is all."

"Smooth cover there," Dutchy mused.

"Shut _up_. Okay, what else?"

There was a long pause.

"God damn it, we've got more than one song," Blink muttered.

"We could always use the cover," Race suggested. "I mean, we have that pretty down. And that one song you guys had when I joined. We haven't practiced it in awhile, but we can still use it... Right?"

Blink growled and Dutchy nodded. "I remember it... Itey?"

"Yeah..." he said, seemingly downhearted because the song he'd been so proud of had been shot down by Blink.

"Come on, Gabe, you know I didn't mean that."

"I know..."

"Stop pouting like that, you know I can't stand it when you're down."

"I'm NOT."

"Both of you stop being stupid," Race broke in. "We're gonna be fine. If all else fails, we can get Blink to scream a bit like Robert Plant and Itey can come in with some of his nifty bass solos."

Itey blushed. "Really?"

"Yeah, you kinda rock a lot."

Itey smiled a little bit and ducked his head shyly, and Dutchy pounded him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

"You, on the other hand," Blink said accusatorily.

"--Need to slow the fuck down, we've been _through_ it." Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"Well, you never DO it, so--"

"So shut _up_, I already _know_. Jesus, you _are_ a drama queen today." Dutchy crossed his arms and glared a little.

"I am not--" Blink stopped. "Okay, I am. Sue me. I really want us to get this gig; we _deserve_ to be heard. We're _good_, we just need to iron out a few... kinks. Ya know."

"Yeah, yeah." Dutchy shrugged. "So we've got three."

Race paused for a second. "Guys? Do we even have a _name_?"

There was a long silence.

"Oh my GOD, are we for real?" Blink groaned and fell backwards on the couch. "We don't have a freaking NAME."

"It shouldn't be too hard." Itey shrugged his shoulders. "You know, something that maybe describes all of us."

"Blink Eyed Mexican Crackaddicts," Dutchy grinned. Race laughed.

Itey rolled his eyes but laughed too. "_No_. Something that makes people think, I dunno... Led Zeppelin had a great name. The Who--"

"You're only saying the Who because they're your favorite band," Blink snapped. "Come on, maybe we should just be Blink and the... Rockers?"

"_You're_ on crack now," Dutchy accused.

"Oh shut up."

Race bit his lip, thinking, letting all the events of the past few months get inside his head. "Hey, got one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was another pause.

"So, don't keep us in suspense, Tony. We kind of have to be there in an hour, and I'm sure Itey wants to go make sure Jack's not hitting on his girlfriend."

"Of _course_ Jack is hitting on my girlfriend," Itey answered. "He wouldn't be Jack otherwise." He poked Dutchy in the ribs. "Jess likes you."

"She does NOT," Dutchy answered. "She thinks I'm... some freaky drug addict."

"You are," Blink answered.

"I _know_," Dutchy whined. "And I've had a crush on her since, like, fifth grade and this is the first time she's ever talked to me and I say stupid shit and she thinks I'm on drugs..."

"She likes you," Itey repeated. "I've got this feeling--"

"_Ahem_," Race interrupted loudly. Itey and Dutchy turned towards him, a little guiltily. "What I was saying before anyone brought up Dutchy's love life--"

"I don't _have_ a love life. That's the freaking _problem_!"

"Can we please _focus_?" Blink snapped.

"Right. Well, what I was saying was," Race paused for dramatic emphasis, but then continued quickly before anyone could interrupt him again, "Money City Maniacs."

There was another pause.

"Tony... That's pretty freaking awesome."

* * *

The van was insanely cramped. The band didn't have all that much equipment, although the drum set took up a lot of room, but with the amp and the soundboard, the mic, and everyone's instruments, there wasn't a lot of room. Especially not when the band _and_ their hangers on all had to fit inside as well.

Jack was driving, sulking because David hadn't made it home in time to go with them, with Blink (also sulking, because Mush wasn't there yet, either) riding shotgun. Race was shoved in between Spot and Dutchy on one side in the back, with Jessica, Itey and Sophia on the other.

"When did _Itey_ become a pimp?" Jack demanded, glancing back at them. "So totally unfair."

"It's plenty fair," Itey answered cheerfully, and Sophia shoved him a little. He smiled. "You know I've only got eyes for you, Sophie."

"A_hem_," Race snapped.

"Screw you," Sophia snapped.

"Way to have sympathy for your poor, disowned older brother."

"I have _plenty_ of sympathy. But you're _still_ a jackass."

Race made a face at her, and Spot rolled his eyes. Spot was looking a little more conscious now; bruised but more alert, and less like he was going to pass out any moment.

"Sooo," Jessica said, and turned to Dutchy. "Do you guys think you'll place?"

"Place?"

"...Place?" Itey repeated.

"Did you guys actually _read_ the flyer Dave gave us?" Race sighed. "They want five acts. It's a competition... Best act last and all."

"Oh."

"You didn't read it, did you?"

"I _tried_," Itey sulked. "Blink kept grabbing it and freaking out."

"Hey!" Blink yelled from the front. "I did not!"

"You did SO!"

"He did," Dutchy assured everyone else.

"_So_," Jessica said again, "_do_ you think you'll place?"

Dutchy, not realizing she'd asked him, didn't answer. So Itey sighed and reached over Jessica to poke him.

"Ow! What?!" Itey nodded his head at Jessica, who was waiting expectantly, and then he turned beat red. "OH! Uh...well, uh... that-that is... we... well... Tony good drum."

A silence followed.

Dutchy slumped in his seat.

"You're so stupid," Jack said. "I love it."

"Fuck you," Itey snapped. "Leave him alone."

"What's with you?" Jack asked.

"You hitting on my girlfriend all day is what's up with me!"

"Not my fault you're not man enough."

"WHAT did you say!?"

Itey didn't get mad too often, and when did, everyone was a little started. He glanced around the van to discover everyone staring at him, Dutchy with a particularly perverse smile. He didn't speak much after that. He kind of huddled into Sophia, looking scared.

Sophia was more than happy to put an arm around him, and looked kind of smug about the whole thing. Jack looked fairly annoyed, though no one else saw, because he was up front. There was quiet for a minute, and then Sophia's phone rang.

"Christ, if that's Dad--" Race started.

"It's Michael," she said, glancing at the display, and hitting the answer button. "Your boyfriend is a drama queen," she said with no greeting. There was a pause while Mush answered, and she started laughing.

"What?" Blink demanded. "_What_ did he _say_?!"

"He says it's probably cute and we're just jealous."

Blink grinned. Everyone else rolled their eyes, though Itey squeezed Sophia's hand and Race leaned into Spot a little bit.

Sophia continued to talk for another minute before hanging up. "They'll meet us at the club," she announced. "And Mush is pretty upset about something but didn't want to talk."

"What?" Blink demanded. "Is he--give me your phone! Is he _okay_?"

"He's fine. He said he'd fill us in." She shrugged.

"Is Davey okay?" Jack asked.

"Awwwww," Spot cooed, and Jack flipped him off vaguely, keeping his eyes on the road.

"He's _fine_. Michael didn't say much; I guess they got into a yelling match on the way out or something which is why they're late."

"What?" Race frowned. "Neither of them has yelled at anyone in their _lives_."

Sophia shrugged. "He's doing alright."

"I can't believe you married my boyfriend." Blink shook his head. Sophia smiled.

"I'm his favorite."

"Are _not_!"

"Turn right, Jack," Itey interrupted.

"Are you good?" Jessica asked Dutchy.

"Uh?" His voice cracked. "Kinda?" Jessica raised an eyebrow. "I play too fast!"

"Oh..."

"I kind of suck."

"Oh?"

"ARGH!"

"Oh, Dutchy, don't... don't bang your head against the window..."

Really, everyone decided to stay out of Jess and Dutchy's conversation. They were getting close now, and soon Jack was pulling into their parking space.

Race looked over at Spot, and smiled. "You doing okay?"

_"Yes."_

"Really?"

Spot looked at him, still glowering, but kissed him anyway. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Good."

Race kissed him quickly and they began to file out of the car, and as Spot limped out (he wasn't sure how the hell his _ankle_ had gotten hurt), Mush and David pulled in two parking spots down. Blink all but ran to and jumped on his boyfriend; the three of them walked back to the group a little more calmly.

"You _look_ fine, so what's--"

"Spot, what the hell happened to your face?" David demanded, interrupting Blink.

Spot shrugged. "Fight."

"_Duh_. With--" He paused. "Hey, Jess."

"Hey, Davey, long time no see."

"How do _you_ know her?" Dutchy whined.

"Middle school student council," David answered. "So... Since you're here, I'm guessing Steve?"

"Yeah. Bastard."

"You okay?"

"Would everyone stop asking me that? I'm fucking FABULOUS," Spot snarled.

"Well, you sound like you usually do." David rolled his eyes a little, and Spot shoved him into Jack, who put a protective arm around him. Blink glanced at them, then caught Spot's eye, and they both started snickering. "Shut _up_," David muttered, but didn't disentangle himself from Jack.

"So... We kind of also had a run in. Nothing so... Uh, really violent..." Mush said, glancing at Spot's bruises. "But yeah."

"But yeah _what_?" Blink demanded.

"Rumors." David sighed. "About Tony and why he wasn't in school today."

Racetrack groaned and buried his head in Spot's shoulder.

David continued, "So... Scott Blake--"

"The _fuckhead_," Mush interrupted darkly.

"--picked up where he left off when Tony broke his nose two years ago--"

"What _is_ it with you two and people's noses?" Blink asked Spot and Race.

"--and started saying some pretty mean stuff about Tony and Mush and we, uh..."

"Lost it?" Mush suggested.

David nodded. "I punched him!"

Jack grinned. "Really?"

"Really!"

"Good job!"

"Jackie's proud of you," Spot said, pouting his lips. "Isn't that SWEET."

"Fuck you, scarface."

"You're gonna be late," Sophia supplied. "You have about five minutes to--"

"GAAH!" Blink yelped. "OKAY EVERYONE STOP TALKING LET'S GET GOING MUSH YOU STOP DISTRACTING ME JESSICA STOP DISTRACING DUTCHY SOPHIA STOP DISTRACT--"

_CLANG!_

Blink tumbled over slightly, because most people would tumble slightly after being smoked in the head with a cymbal.

"Would you shut up?" Race asked.

Everyone started to laugh as Blink shook the ringing out of his ears. "Okay, Davey and Mush, help me with my drums."

Mush and David both had done this before, once or twice, and hurried to the van.

"Sophie, can you carry the soundboard?" Itey asked. She nodded, and Jack scoffed.

"She's a _lady_, Itey, don't ask her to carry things."

Sophia kicked his shin.

"Everyone is mean to me," Jack sulked.

"I'm nice to you," David answered, as he began organizing parts of the drum to pass out to Race and Mush.

"Of course you are," Blink smirked.

"Blink, get the amp, and also, shut up," David answered.

"So..." Jack mumbled. "You _punched_ him?"

"Well, not hard."

Mush chuckled.

"Shut up, Mush."

Mush started laughing. "Sorry, Dave. I know it's a rude sexist cliche and all, but you hit like a girl."

"Shut _up_, Mush."

"You _do_.

"Shut--"

"Hey, broken record, back to work," Race interrupted, then, "You... seriously... You hit Scott?"

"Yeah. Uh, I think I hurt my hand more than I hurt him."

"What about your scholarship?"

David didn't say anything, and Race stopped working for a minute.

"Davey, don't get in trouble for me," he said, putting his hand on David's shoulder.

David shrugged and brushed his hand off. "It wasn't a real fight or anything. And he laughed at me anyway, so I think I'm okay. Aside from the wounded pride."

"On the other hand," Mush mused, "some of those insults were _really_ impressive."

"Yeah, well... I'm better at talking than fighting."

"Clearly," Mush answered.

"Shut _up_."

"Less talking, more packing," Dutchy announced. Jessica came up to him as he was taking out his guitar case.

"What kind of guitar?" she asked.

Dutchy shrugged. "Fen...der..."

She nodded. "I don't know much about guitars. I was just...asking."

"Oh," Dutchy shrugged, then smiled a little when he kind of got the gist of what she said. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiled, and then Dutchy turned to mush again.

Race laughed as he watched them, and then slipped his arm around David's waist and gave him a squeeze before pulling away. "Thanks Davey...you're the best mom ever."

David laughed. "It's true."

Inside, they were directed where to set up and given a few forms to fill out, and everyone waited kind of nervously for someone to appear to judge them. They all sat against the wall, as the only chair in the room was Race's stool and the ones clearly meant for the judges, and no one was really sure what to say.

"So, Steve and Scott should totally hang out," Race finally muttered.

"Seriously, they're like long lost twins," David answered. "Spot, did you ice--"

"_Yes_, I iced the bruises. Christ, it's not like I've never been in a fight before, I fucking know what I'm doing."

Jack sighed a little, and Itey mused, "It was kind of... I guess in a mean way, it was kind of satisfying to see Steve crying on the pavement."

"You made him _cry_?" Blink demanded. "Fucking _sweet_!"

"Blinkee..." Mush trailed off.

"I _know_, violence is bad, pacifism is good, whatever. You telling me you didn't like watching someone punch Scott Blake?"

Mush bit his lip, and admitted, "...It was pretty awesome when Tony broke his nose for me."

Race rolled his eyes, but smiled a little.

And then the door opened, and three people walked in. Two women and a man, ranging from what looked like their late twenties to late forties, carrying clipboards and looking pretty serious for people who were in charge of booking the club's shows.

"Forms, please," the woman said. Itey, who'd taken care of the form filling, handed her the stack of paper, and she scanned her eyes over each one quickly, before glancing at him. "You the leader?"

Itey eeped, and Blink, Dutchy and Race jumped in with a monotone "sure" before he could say anything. Mainly because Itey was the only responsible one in the group.

"All right. Set up," she said, and when she saw that only four people started towards the stage, raised her eyebrow at Spot, Sophia, Jessica, Mush, Jack and David. "Who are all of you?"

"Roadies?" Jack suggested.

"Wait outside."

"The ladies can sit with _us,_ if they want to," said the older, slightly overweight man in his forties, waggling his eyebrows.

Jessica wrinkled her nose a little, but Sophia made a puking noise. From the stage, everyone winced. Insulting judges was not a good start.

Finally, the 'roadies' filed out of the room, and Money City Maniacs was left standing on stage.

* * *

F: OH MY GOD WHERE HAVE WE BEEN??  
B: I don't even KNOW. Where does the time go during senior year?  
F: Where does the time go when all I do is school? And more school? And working?  
B: And school, and work, and school, and work, and school and school and school and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh.  
F: We're both dead. Then we died some more because we never had time to talk to each other...I MISSED YOU SO MUCH.  
B: I missed you tooooooooooo... I didn't see her online for weeks and weeks. Seriously. This is the first time we've been online at the same time in a whole month.  
F: Through NO fault of our own. Then through some work of god, WOAH, THERE WE ARE, ONLINE AT ONCE.  
B: And the first thing we're doing is updating the fic. Aren't you proud of us? We missed you guys, too. ::sniffle::  
F: We missed the fic and all of you and each other and...::bawls:: I--I can't say anymore, I'm too emotional.  
B: Me too. And exhausted from two freaking all nighters in a row. I HATE FINALS. Goodnight.  
F: GOODNIGHT. 

This chapter was celebrated by pizza pops.


	22. Back To Reality

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

Let there be a record of your gorgeous voice  
The turn of phrase that filled my days with joy  
Something like Bing singing soft and low  
As you turn to go  
-The 6ths, _As You Turn To Go_

**_Chapter Twenty-Two: Back to Reality_**

"Soooo..." Jessica slid down onto a fold up chair and glanced around her. She gave Mush a strange look. "I didn't know Ryan had a boyfriend."

"We've only been together like... a month." He shrugged. "So you're the girl that Spot--" Spot kicked him, hard, and he winced.

Jessica sighed a little. "Yeah; well, the whole hitting on the gay guy thing didn't work out so well."

"It worked for me." Mush grinned.

"You have the advantage of being male." She gave him a look, and said to no one in particular, "I like him."

"He's my husband," Sophia answered.

There was a pause, and they strained to hear what was going on inside. It sounded like just people talking.

"So, uh... Dutchy," Jessica mumbled.

"Is a _freak_," Jack supplied, and David shoved him. "Well, he is. In a good way, I mean, I love him."

"Not like you love David," Spot answered immediately, and Jack leaned over and hit him. "Bitch," Spot added. "Like I ain't beat up enough already."

"I though you were _fine_?" Jack snapped back.

"Fucker." Spot flipped him off.

Sophia sighed. "Ignore them."

And Mush added, "Dutchy is..." He couldn't really think of an adjective, and shrugged. But luckily, he didn't have to finish anyway, because the sound of the opening drum-and-bass section of the cover song filtered in from the audition room.

No one said anything, and Blink started singing, his voice literally reeking of sex as he echoed Damon Albarn's original vocals.

The guitar came in.

Jessica's eyes widened a little, and she smiled.

The mix was off, so it was hard to make out the actual words of the song; but even without words, the vocals were overwhelming, as though they were simply another instrument. And when they heard Blink go into the chorus, hitting the high note, everyone turned to Mush.

Mush, clearly, was in his happy place.

"Aah, he's so hot," Mush smiled. "I wanna have sex right _now_."

"Get away from me," Jack shuddered. "Anyway, Dutchy likes Tony. So, about me, Jess--"

"Would you stop being a fucker?" Sophia snapped. Jack gave her a simpery smile and she rolled her eyes. "Dutchy doesn't like Tony--"

"Does too," David, Jack and Mush all said. Spot was glowering.

"Fucking doesn't _matter_," he snapped, and looked at Jessica. "Jess, just go fuck Dutch and do us all a favor."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't just have sex with people, you know. You were a special case."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Spot sighed and averted his eyes, ending the conversation. Mush broke in quickly to avoid an awkward silence. "You wanna date Dutchy?"

Jessica laughed. "If he knows how to talk."

Mush made a slightly confused place. "Uh... _does_ he? 'Cause really I've only known him since the drug thing and..."

David kind of shrugged. "He's a pretty quiet guy."

Jack finally decided to contribute something worthwhile to the conversation and put in, "So... You actually _interested_ in him or just rebounding? 'Cause... Yeah, he's not really in a place where he could deal too well with it if you fuck with his head or anything."

Jessica looked a little taken aback, then shrugged. "I don't know. I'd like to get to know him a little more. But he seems pretty... Cool."

"He is," Jack agreed.

"And he's pretty hot. In a skinny blond kind of way..."

Spot smirked a little. "He _so_ owes me."

The song wound down, and the group was quiet again, waiting for the next one.

The music started, and everyone listened for a few seconds.

"Good thing they're playing this," David said. "They've been playing it forever."

"Sounds better with Tony," Jack said. Spot glanced at him and grinned a little. Jack shrugged, and they didn't say anything else.

"...Dutchy's good," Jessica noted. "Is he a bit fast?"

"Just a little," David answered. "But wait...no, he's good, he caught himself."

"Spot," Sophia said quietly, so no one would hear but him. "Spot, do you think Steve's gonna jump you and Tony again?"

Spot glanced at her, and sighed. "I dunno...Tony should be fine."

"I'm worried about you too, you know."

"Don't. We'll both be fine."

Sophia nodded, and hung her head. "Is he happy at your house?"

"We're doing what we can."

"Okay."

"You miss him?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him that."

"I will."

Sophia pulled her knees up to her chest. "Dad is insane," she mumbled. "I can't believe he..." She trailed off. "He's got some business meeting in Chicago this weekend, so if Mom goes out, Tony can come over and get anything else he needs... Izzy's coming home as soon as she can, hopefully she'll be able to... Yeah."

"You think she'll be able to help?" David asked.

"Not... Not really. I've never seen Dad _this_ pissed before. But... It can't hurt..." She sighed a little. "He'll calm down. He _has_ to."

"Sure," Spot muttered. "He'll calm down, but he's still a fucking bigot."

Sophia swallowed hard, and nodded, then leant back against the wall and tried to just listen to the music. She and David had told Mush everything that had happened at school earlier that day; Jessica didn't really know, but suspected she had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about.

The music stopped again, and this time, the silence that followed seemed kind of serious. Sophia looked sad. The mood started to spiral down.

Though Spot didn't say anything to her, he gave her arm a little pat, and that was all he did. Sophia appreciated it.

"Make sure he eats alright," Sophia said to Spot, then backtracked. "Or...more than you."

"He's Godzilla," Jack told her. "Yeah, box of two dozen donuts? Gone in an hour."

"He's like that."

The music started again, and they all listened for a moment, and slowly turned to Sophia, grinning.

She was beet red.

Jessica seemed really impressed by the ballad as they heard Itey begin singing the first verse. She sighed. "That's... god, that's the sweetest thing _ever_. Steve never said anything like that about me."

"Steve is a _dick_," Spot pointed out, then, "Screw Dutchy and you'll probably end up with a song, too."

"I'm not gonna sleep with him just to--" She broke off, listening to the lyrics. "...I might."

Sophia was still grinning, and Mush ruffled her hair fondly. It was funny, how her hair could be ruffled without getting messed up at all.

"He's so great," she murmured.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack muttered.

"Jack..." Jessica sighed. "You _have_ a girlfriend. Her name is _Sarah_."

"But Sophia's hotter."

Which led to an awkward silence, because it was a compliment, and yet so skeevy. Finally, David settled on kicking him, and Sophia shushed them all, declaring the song was at her favorite part.

"Your boy's not so great at the keyboard," Spot mused to Blink, when Sophia's sigh indicated her favorite section was over.

"He hasn't had lessons since he was _six_!" Mush answered.

"Yeah, well, Itey and Dutch have never had lessons and THEY can play fine," Spot shrugged.

"Leave Blinkee alone..." Mush pouted.

"He's my best friend, I can do what I want to him."

"Can't!"

"Can."

"Ssshhh!" Sophia hit them both on the head. "He's singing about me, idiots, I wanna _hear_."

"'I wanna heaarrr'," Spot mimicked. She threatened him again by raising her hand, and he stuck his tongue out.

Finally the song was done, and Jessica pouted at Sophia. "You're so lucky."

"I so am." She sighed happily.

"My boyfriend is hotter," Mush commented.

"Ha," Spot laughed. "My boy is hot and can _cook_."

"Mine gives better head." Mush grinned.

"OKAY this is that whole 'I don't want to know' territory again!" Sophia snapped, and the door from the band opened. Itey stepped out, looking totally dejected.

"We, uh... Have to pack up, they need the room for the next group." He didn't look too happy.

"You were amazing."

"We SUCKED!" Blink yelled from inside the room. "I totally FUCKED UP the whole fucking keyboard--"

"CHILL!" Race interrupted, and there was a sort of crashing nose, and then, "FUCK, Mush would you CALM HIM DOWN?"

Mush grinned and pushed past everyone into the room.

Itey was leaning dejectedly against the wall, and Sophia sighed and walked over to him, putting her hands on his shoulders and pressing against him.

"Gabe, you were fine." She smiled. "Okay?"

Itey blushed, and grinned. "Heard the song, much?"

She smirked, and gave him a very close hug, and really, Itey's mood was getting better and better, despite what they claimed was a 'horrible' audition.

Blink was whining and sulking to Mush, who was walking him outside, and finally, Jack and David and Jessica went inside to help get their instruments off the stage. Itey and Sophia were preoccupied with gazing stupidly at each other.

Spot walked by Race, carrying part of the drum set.

"It sounded good," he said.

Race snorted.

"Really."

"Whatever."

"Would I refrain from telling you that you suck?"

Race paused. "Good point."

"Thank you. Don't get all Blink on me."

"I really want there to be a dirty comment in that, but I can't quite figure out how to make it." Race sighed. "Great, so I can't drum _or_ insult you. I _suck_."

"Yeah; you can suck me off later. Shut up, _Midgito_, you were good."

Which was the closest thing Spot came to being sympathetic or empathetic, and Race knew it, but couldn't bring himself to smile. He knew they weren't totally awful; there was a chance they'd be offered the gig as the opener or something, but they had missed the _spark_. They hadn't had it more than once or twice in rehearsals, days when they were particularly on, but because Race knew they had the potential to be amazing and didn't manage to hit it, he couldn't be happy. And he knew the others agreed with him, which was why their audition, which had been, objectively, fine, felt so lousy.

He kicked vaguely at the wall before picking up the remaining pieces of his drum set and stalking back out to the van.

The ride back to Blink's was a lot more subdued than the ride to the club had been.

* * *

"Life sucks," Sophia said, settling onto the old, worn porch swing outside of Itey's house. She knew she had to get going, but didn't want to leave. She didn't want to go back to the house and see her father acting hostile, or any of the rest of the Family--who kept dropping in and disappearing into her father's office. She could hear them all yelling but was careful to not listen to what they were saying. She just heard Tony's name over and over.

"Yeah," Itey agreed.

"Your audition was _fine_."

"It was _just_ fine," he countered. "It should have been _great_."

"It _was_ great."

"You said it was fine."

"Gabriel..." she muttered, and he put an arm around her, glad that the spring weather had swung back around to warm.

"I... know how hard it must be at home for you..." Itey answered quietly. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." She snuggled against him. "Even if Dad says it is."

"He... does?"

"Yeah, he... He blames all of you. Like there was some conspiracy to _make_ Tony gay."

"I'm sorry--"

"It isn't your fault, Gabe. It's no one's fault. I _know_ that, I just..." She trailed off. "I hate this. I want it to be back to normal." She groaned a little. "I never thought I'd miss the days when Dad was _only_ pissed about the drugs..."

Itey hugged her tightly for a minute. "Sophie, _Rosetta_..." He was sort of proud that she let him use the family nickname for her. "Tony is strong, okay? He... He's really okay; Denise is taking care of him and she knows what she's doing. I mean, she can handle Spot..."

"Yeah, but--"

"And when Jack first moved in he was no prize, either. He was, like... ten or eleven and..." He trailed off. "Kind of messed up, but he turned out pretty cool. So really, if he stays with Denise I think he'll be _happy_."

"Maria and Izzy and I won't be." She pulled away from him for a second. "I know it's totally selfish but he's my _brother_ and I want him to... To _be_ my brother."

"It's not selfish, _Rosetta_. It's okay, because you love him." He caught her hand, leaned in and kissed her cheek. "And it'll all be fine, just give it time."

She sighed, and he squeezed her hand. "I wish I could believe that."

"Me too," he said. "...I wish we hadn't messed up the audition."

"_That_ was _fine_. They said they'd call you tomorrow. You'll see."

"You'll see, too. Maybe not tomorrow but... It'll work out." He kissed her again, gently. "You'll see."

* * *

"For the last time, it was FINE!" Spot snapped, as he pulled off his shirt and settled into his bed. "Stop moping around, for fuck's sake, do you know how annoying that is?"

"I don't care!" Race yelped. "Do you know how much potential we have?"

Spot sighed, grabbed his book from the bedside table, and simply began to read while Race started ranting at a fantastic rate about 'combining' and 'getting the magic back' and it was really, really stupid.

"SPOT!" Race jumped next to him on the mattress. "Would you listen? Stop reading!"

"No," Spot said. "You're repeating yourself and it's fucking annoying. Don't read over my should-DON'T." Spot whapped Race's head with his book. "You were fine, okay? All right, so maybe you weren't sweeping the nation, but it's not like they were expecting The Beatles!"

"What are you saying?!" Race sat up on his knees. "That we suck?!"

"I didn't fucking say that!"

"Then what did you say?"

"For fuck's sake, Tony, my head hurts, and my face hurts, and you really have to shut the fuck up!"

Pause. Then Race slid into bed next to him. "You said you were fine."

"I _am_."

"But--"

"Just don't talk. In fact, unless you're gonna suck me off or something, don't open your mouth at all." Spot went back to his book, and when Race started to say something else, Spot whapped him on the head again with his book.

Race glared and rubbed his head, then rolled over in bed (he'd managed to claim the side next to the wall, which Spot had complained about at great length) and faced the wall. "_Cazzo_," he mumbled. "What are you reading, anyway?"

"I'm _not_ reading because you won't _shut up."_

"Bitch."

"Tony." Spot glared over at his boyfriend. "I am tired. My ankle is swollen. My face hurts. My ribs hurt. I just want to _sleep_. I can't really sleep until I calm down; I calm down by reading. So shut the fuck up and let me read, okay?"

There was a silence just long enough for Spot to turn back to his book, and Race said, "You never mentioned your ankle. I'm going to go get you another ice back."

"Oh for the love of CHRIST!" Spot snapped, as Race climbed over him. "We are never, ever fucking going to live together if every night is like this."

"Every night wouldn't be like this if you weren't such a bitch. Back in a minute." Race walked out of the room.

Spot glared after him for a moment, and went back to his book.

Race hurried down the hall and into the kitchen, where Jack was sitting on the counter, eating a bowl of cheerios. He glanced up, and Race half expected him to...well, do what he always did. Which was act like an ass.

But no. He waved with his spoon.

"...Hey." Race nodded his head, and opened the freezer, searching around for a lunch cooler pack.

"You punched Steve real good today," Jack said, his mouth full.

"Yeah..." Race pulled out the pack and then turned to look at Jack. "So?"

"So, you did it for Sean."

He wasn't calling him Spot, which meant the conversation was kind of serious.

"I know."

"So. That's good."

Race gave him a kind of odd look, then shrugged. "Spot really... Defended himself, I was just pissed..."

"Yeah. Still, though. Nice punch."

"Thanks. I guess. I'm just glad Denise didn't flip out or anything..."

Jack gave him a guilty look, then, "I, uh. Mom... Mom's cool about things like that. But she didn't want to say it to you two 'cause you're both so... Stressed now, or whatever, but she's _really_ pissed. Since she's trying to adopt Sean it'll fuck things up if he's getting in fights and they could take him away and..."

"Shit," Race muttered.

"Yeah."

"Fuck, I didn't even realize--"

"You wouldn't. Sean should have." Jack shrugged. "But yeah, I'm thinking it doesn't really get reported, because Olsen's not the type to admit that a gay guy half his weight beat the crap out of him."

"Let's hope so."

Jack shrugged. "Oh, and the chicken you made for dinner? Rocked."

"It's my only talent. Since I apparently can't drum."

Jack smiled a little. "What_ev_er. 'Night, Tony. Tell Spot..."

"Yeah?"

"Eh. Tell Spot good night too. Don't have loud sex or anything, I'm going to bed in a few minutes."

Race laughed. "'Night, Jack."

When Race went back inside Spot's room, he was taken aback to see that Spot had fallen asleep, his book lying on his chest. Despite his bruised face and cut bottom lip, he looked beautiful and kind of peaceful, really.

Race sighed, and carefully took the book from his grasp and set it on the table. Luckily, Spot's right leg was peeking out of the covers, and Race carefully set the ice on top, noticing just how swollen the ankle really was.

Spot kept sleeping, and Race had to marvel his talent at...Well, sleeping like a rock.

He didn't usually, Race remembered. Spot was a light sleeper.

That only proved how injured and exhausted he was.

Still, Race stayed awake for a little while. Just to make sure the swelling would go down.

It was right as Race himself was falling asleep that Spot woke up and mumbled, "My ankle's cold."

"Go back to sleep."

Spot reached over, put an arm around Race, and sleepily looked him in the eyes. "You guys rocked."

"Thanks."

"...Loveyou." And Spot pretended to fall back asleep as soon as the words left his mouth, so he could pretend it didn't wreck the macho image he'd been working to uphold all afternoon.

* * *

Denise woke them both up early; she'd apparently gotten off the phone with someone at Race's school and had been told he ought to continue to attend classes, at least until the school could contact his parents.

Race was less than thrilled at the thought of facing the school. He remembered the ways everyone had stared at him and whispered about him when he'd first gotten back from rehab; he remembered how incredibly hard it had been for Mush to come out, and _he'd_ done it by choice. Race had been outed.

It was definitely not going to be a good day.

Spot looked a bit better now that he'd showered and washed his hair and really, now the bruise and cut lip looked kind of sexy. Or maybe Spot looked sexy no matter what happened to him.

Jack was calling David, who was going to come and pick up Race and take the bus to school with him. Race realized he'd be using public transit for some time now, something he wasn't looking forward to.

He fished around in his bag for his uniform, and finally found the remains of it, in the corner of the bag. He sighed and pulled off his shirt.

Just then, he felt a hand press into the small of his back, and he gasped a little, and turned around.

Spot was grinning, his hair all wet from the shower.

"Jumpy."

"Can you blame me?" Race asked.

"Paranoia is a sign of cocaine use..." Spot mused, lying down on the bed, still naked from the waste up, with only a towel wrapped around his lower half.

Race suspected he might be drooling. "I have to go to schoooool," he whined.

"Did I say you shouldn't?"

"No, but you're lying there all wet and naked and I want to jump you and you're _so_ doing it on purpose!"

"Would I do that?" Spot asked innocently, making no move to get dressed.

"Yes," Race sulked.

"Your bus isn't for another fifteen minutes..."

Race glanced around, again like he was paranoid, then walked to the door and locked it firmly. "This so has to be fast," he mumbled.

* * *

"I have to wash my eyes!"

"Well, that's what you get!"

"Oh god, why!? WHY?!"

"Because Spot's lock doesn't work? I dunno, you should have knocked."

David just shook his head and whimpered in his seat on the bus. The poor young man had made the mistake of barging into Spot's room when Race and Spot had been... Finishing up.

He wasn't taking it very well.

"Well, imagine how WE feel," Race said.

"Not half as bad as me!"

"It's true..." Race checked his watch. "Five minutes away. I'm ready for hell. Does the school hate me more?"

"Tracy does. Her brunette friend, for some reason, thinks you can be cured," David sighed. "God, I want to shoot myself."

"I want Spot," Race pouted. "Davey, will you buy me lunch today?"

"Where's your money?"

Race leaned back in his seat. "I have to save up. I don't live at home now. Duh, idiot."

"You're so full of shit."

Race smiled. "I know."

"...But you're kind of right. God, that's gotta be culture shock for you. First public transit--"

"--'cause it's cheaper than gas for my sexy but now not so much in use car--"

"--and now saving lunch money."

"I was gonna brown bag it with leftovers, but Spot kind of... Distracted me."

"For the love of god, do NOT remind me!"

Race grinned, and realized it would probably be the last time he'd smile that day. At least, until he got back to Spot's after school.

The bus stop was a block from the school, and Race spent the walk trying to build himself up. He forced himself to keep his head held high, to keep his face emotionless, and his stride even. It was actually pretty convincing.

David only knew it was an act because David was sort of his mother, and knew him too well.

They met Mush getting out of his car (looking kind of guilty because both of his best friends had taken the bus), and Race noted that David and Mush were walking carefully on either side of him, kind of protectively.

He was a little startled to realize how much he really loved the two of them, especially once they stepped into the building. It seemed like within a second, the whole place fell silent.

Race glanced around, tried to look bored, then continued to his locker wordlessly. It wasn't until he was done entering the combination that he mumbled, "I hate everything."

"Settle." David gave his back a pat. "No one's saying anything."

"Yeah, they're just _staring_."

"Don't let 'em know you're hurting."

"Tony," Mush mumbled, talking in his ear. "Just keep up the tough boy, bitch rich boy thing, and people will most likely leave you alone. Okay?"

Race glanced up at him, and had to grin. "Okay. I'll be fine."

"And, you can see Maria and Sophie during lunch," David added. Race shot him a look. "What?"

"Since when did you get permission to call her Sophie?"

"I've known her forever!"

"Shush," Mush scolded.

"I'm just saying," Race sulked. "I have to deal with Itey dating her and Jack hitting on her, and now you--"

"Are _friends_ with her, Jesus." David rolled his eyes. "You're not all mad at Mush, he's her freaking husband."

"Yeah, but he's never gonna try and make a move on her."

Mush rolled his eyes. "I dunno, Tony, as girls go she's not... You know, bad..."

"That was the least convincing thing _ever_," David laughed. "You're just... Hopelessly gay."

"It's true." Mush smiled. "So it's a good thing Sophie loves me for my fashion sense and not my body."

"So. Phi. _A_."

Mush and David exchanged looks behind Race, as he began to sort through his locker, realizing he hadn't done any homework since Thursday. So he missed the silent exchange which basically meant that for the day, Mush and David's new favorite game was 'distract Tony so he doesn't lose it.'

"Today is gonna suck," Race muttered, as the bell rang. He started to slam his locker shut, then paused and dug around in his bag. He smiled a little and found a picture Denise had given him the day before; it was a shot she'd managed to take of Spot when he wasn't looking. Spot _hated_ having his picture taken.

He pulled down one of his other pictures and put that up.

Having Spot to look at between periods might make his day a _little_ better.

But it was still gonna suck.

* * *

Lunch time was...well, a lot better than Race had expected it to be.

He'd just been stepping out of the school to go and see Maria down at the girls' school, and instead she came tearing up the stairway and into his arms, babbling on and on about how she missed him and everything sucked and when was he going to make up with his father.

Sophia was close behind her, smirking, and she went to sit on the steps with Mush and David, who both had bag lunches.

"She hasn't stopped talking about him," Sophia said, taking a carrot stick from Mush.

"He hasn't stopped thinking about her," David replied. "Did you bring a lunch?"

"Forgot one."

"Don't turn into Spot."

"No, I actually did." Sophia sighed. "This morning was...Really weird. Dad rushed out of the house, yelling about business and how bad it was getting and something about no one keeping their word. It was a hectic morning, so I didn't get a chance to make lunch."

"Tony didn't, either, I hear," Mush mused.

David hit him. Hard. Significantly harder than he'd hit Scott the day before.

"What was that about?" Sophia asked.

"That's one of those questions you _really_ don't want me to answer," David told her, and shuddered.

"Ew, that's more of an answer than I needed."

"I tried," he said.

She sighed. "He's... Kinda going overboard, isn't he? I mean, I know he and Spot like each other and are horny teenage boys or whatever, but really, I think they're just doing... things... _so_ often because he kind of wants to prove something to my dad, or... Something."

David nodded a little. "That's about what I figured. Hopefully they'll calm down."

"Shhh," Mush hissed, and waved as Racetrack walked up. "Where's the baby?"

"I, uh..." He shrugged and sat down. "I convinced her to go eat with her friends like usual, 'cause... Yeah, I don't want the rumors and shit to start affecting _her_, and if spends too much time with me..." He kicked the stair with his heel. "It fucking _sucks_ but I don't want her to get totally screwed over by this."

"It'll blow over," David told him.

"Sure, whatever."

"It _will_. The cocaine thing did." He sighed, and shoved half of his sandwich Race. "Eat, you'll feel better."

"Thanks, _Mom_."

Mush glanced ruefully at his own lunch, then handed it to Sophia.

The siblings exchanged looks. "Didn't you used to have other friends?" Race asked Sophia.

"Yours are more fun. Thanks, Mushee."

Race grinned and Mush opened his mouth in surprise. "But you were the queen bee! Well," he gave her head a pat, "you're sexy and beautiful, of course you were, but you left them for us?"

She smiled. "I don't like being the queen bee."

"Yeah, that's Mush," David said, biting in to his sandwich. Race snorted into his milk, and gave David a high five.

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I've been getting bugged by some girls. They all hate me."

"Because you're beautiful," Mush supplied.

"No, it's...never mind, I just don't like them." Sophia ate at her carrot stick. "Davey? Would you talk to Jack?"

"What about?"

"Being a perverted dick?"

David laughed, which didn't help Race stop laughing, because David's laugh was purely ridiculous. "Yeah, I'll..." David snickered. "Jack's never gonna stop being perverted. It's what he _does_."

"Could he not do it to _me_?" she whined.

"You want me to talk to him, _Rosetta_?" Race asked.

She rolled her eyes. "_No_; you have to live with him, and you're stupid anyway. Just, you know... If he'd freaking leave Gabe alone..."

"He's just joking, he knows you and Itey are happy," David assured her. "And you can always kick him in the groin if he's being too much of an ass."

"Wow, you're violent the last few days," Mush laughed. "Between that comment and Scott yesterday--"

"Speak of the devil." David nodded down the hallway, where Scott Blake was standing at his locker, glaring at them.

"Ugh," Sophia wrinkled her nose. "Mush, Davey, I'm so proud of you two. Even if you punch like a girl." She gave David a pat on the back.

Race wasn't laughing any more. He was glowering at Scott, a serious frown on his face. Mush and David joined in on the looks, but Sophia just looked worried.

"Tony, please don't fight," she said. "Okay? I hate it when you fight."

"Shut up, _Rosetta_," Race snapped. "He's coming over."

"DON'T tell me to shut up--"

"SSH."

"Hey!" Mush broke in. "We don't have to act like we're scared of him!"

Race snorted. "I'm NOT."

They fell silent as Scott kept walking towards them, and paused a few feet away. He smirked and just muttered, "Faggots," and started walking again, trying to head up the stairs.

No one moved to let him through.

He looked down at them, vaguely disgusted.

"How's your _nose_, Scotty?" Racetrack asked flatly.

Scott glared at him, then shoved past the group, up the stairs, around the corner and out of sight.

Everyone let out a visible breath, and David muttered, "Fuckhead," under his breath.

"You didn't hit him," Sophia said approvingly.

"He knows I'd win. Again." Race leant against the wall and let out a deep breath. "Jesus, that's... Shit, that's the first time anyone but... Well, Dad... has ever..." He trailed off, not really sure how to articulate what he felt.

Mush put a hand on his shoulder. "It's just a word, Tony. And he's just an asshole. Don't let it bother you."

Race nodded. "I know." He kicked the stair again. "How the hell do you put up with..." He gestured in the direction Scott had left. "That?"

"Grin and bare it." Mush shrugged a little. "I'm better than they are. So are you."

"I sure fucking am."

Mush patted his shoulder a little, and David gave him an approving look, and Sophia managed a tiny smile.

"Fuck," Race ran his hands through his hair. "Let's get out of here. I don't want to go to class."

"Okay," Mush nodded. David shook his head, and Race gave him an understanding shrug.

"Tony!" Sophia hit his arm. "You can't do that! You have to--"

"I love you," Race smacked her arm. "Leave it alone. Come on, Mushee."

Mush sighed, and looked at Sophia. "He did this awhile during the cocaine thing, you know. He'll stop."

Sophia bit her lip. "Can I come?"

Race stared. "You have to go to school!"

"So do you!"

"That's different!"

"Is not!" She stamped her foot. "I only have study hall and band this afternoon anyway."

"Yes, but how are you going to explain to Dad that you skipped classes to hang out with your gay, cokehead, no-longer-acknowledged-by-the-family, fuck up older brother?" Race demanded.

"Tony, you're not--"

"I am, actually, everything I just said. It's okay." He smirked a little. "You're the pretty one, Izzy's the smart one, Maria's the popular one, and I'm the fuck up."

She snorted. "You so are."

"So I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Sophie?"

"Whatever." She gave him an annoyed look, then shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Don't fail out."

"I'll probably get kicked out anyway. I'm only welcome here until Dad remembers to tell them I'm not." He stood up. "No one's gonna care if I go, anyway."

David sighed. "I'll bring your homework by tonight."

"Thanks, Davey."

"Yeah, you owe me. Don't bother Blink and Spot in school, their grades are bad enough..."

Race shot Mush a look. "Of _course_ we won't, David, why on Earth would we go do that?" Mush asked innocently.

"Oh, just get out of here," David laughed. Racetrack picked up his bag, Mush dug his car keys out of his pocket, and they headed off.

* * *

"I can't concentrate, Blink," Dutchy said, strumming cords on his guitar. "I can't. I have to know if we got the gig or not."

"You didn't. You suck."

"Shut up, Spot," Race snapped. "Dutch, don't worry. What happens, happens. There'll be other gigs."

Dutchy grinned at him. "You're so confident."

"'You're so confident'."

"Shut up, Spot." Race smacked his boyfriend's head with one of his drumsticks. "Anyway, Itey? No calls or anything before you got here?"

Itey shook his head. "My amp is all messed up..."

"_What_?!" Blink exclaimed. "How messed up? Buy a new one messed up!?"

"No..." Itey ignored his flamboyance. "José is good with this kinda stuff. I can ask him to take a look at it. GYAH!" A rush of feedback came from the amp and Itey jumped back. "Fuck!"

"Itey said fuck!" Jack pointed. He and Spot laughed and clanked their beer bottles to the other. "Cheers."

"Would you to stop being so distracting?" Dutchy snapped.

"Distracting from what? You aren't playing," Jack answered.

"Well, maybe we _would_ if you would be _quiet_," Blink snapped. "Itey, can we make do with the amp for now?"

Itey turned the amp on again, and there was more feedback and he shot Blink a look. Blink winced, and Itey shut it off again. "Uh, no."

"Damn it!" Blink collapsed onto the couch next to Mush. "We _suck_. I know garage bands always suck at first be we are just _so_ sucky that we--"

Mush kissed him to shut him up, and for a change, no one made any comments when they started making out.

"So how was school?" Dutchy asked Race.

"Sucked."

"Like us," Dutchy groaned. "Are they gonna at least call to say we didn't get it?"

"Probably not," Itey said. "No one ever does that phone call."

"Go check your messages again?" Race pleaded.

"I just checked ten minutes ago--"

"GABRIEL!"

Everyone's heads snapped around to see Itey's younger brother, José, running towards the garage. José looked less like a brother and more like a younger clone; the people who'd known Itey in seventh grade found it downright creepy.

"José, what's--"

"You got a call!"

"WHAT?!"

José stopped running in the garage and panted for a second, then shoved a piece of paper at his brother. There was a phone number written on it.

"They--they said it was the club and you guys placed and--" He sucked in a deep breath. "And you should call them back as soon as you--"

Itey was already starting for the door, and only paused to yell over his shoulder, "José, fix my amp!" before taking off into Blink's house.

JosÂŽ looked down at the amp. "What's the prob-GAK!"

He was bombarded by Dutchy, Race and Blink, who all hugged him tightly, picking the little guy clear off the ground.

"Lemme go! Gross!" He punched and squirmed but they didn't budge.

"You are the best little Spanish dude EVER!" Blink exclaimed. "I'm breaking up with Mush for _you_!"

"I ONLY _BROUGHT_THE NEWS I DIDN'T MAKE IT LEMME GOOO!"

"God, let him _go_," Spot said. "He's just a _child_. Don't fuck children."

"Don't fuck me!" José agreed.

"Don't _swear,"_ Mush scolded, pulling away from Blink's lips momentarily.

"And fix his amp," Blink added.

"Don't tell me what to do." José stuck out his tongue.

"He'll hug you again," Mush warned.

José winced and walked over to the amp, flipped it on and then off at the noise, and frowned. Everyone watched in fascination as he began to fiddle with it. He turned around and gave them strange looks. "You can _talk_, you know."

"Wouldn't want to mess up your concentration," Dutchy mused.

José rolled his eyes. Dutchy had been practically living with them for awhile, and he was more than used to putting up with his brother's strange friend by now. "It doesn't take concentration." He frowned a little, then kicked the amp. When he flipped it on again, there was no feedback, just the slight static noise it always made.

"How did you...?" Race asked.

José just grinned.

"Genius!" Dutchy and Blink exclaimed, and hugged him again.

"Oh _god_ no!" José wormed his way out of their grasp and ran over to sit in between Spot and Jack. "At least these two are cool."

"Hah!" Jack grinned, and he and Spot clanked beer bottles again. "Cheers again."

"Wanna beer?" Spot asked José.

"Yeah!"

Mush smacked Spot's head, and yanked the box of beer away from him before he could intoxicate a middle schooler. Race and Blink hurried over to the door and inside of Blink's house to listen in on Itey's conversation on the phone. Dutchy, too afraid, tuned his guitar. Even though it didn't need it.

"Hey, José," Jack leaned close to him. "So, give me the inside deal. What do you think of Sophia?"

"Gabe's _obsessed_." He sounded vaguely disgusted. "She's okay. But he's just..." He trailed off. "I sit in the living room when they're watching movies just to irritate him. It's _fun_."

"You're _awesome_," Race declared. "Can you dump popcorn on him or something too?"

"Sure thing. Or I could spill soda on her dress and blame him. I'm _really_ good at that." He grinned. "Last Thanksgiving I kept smacking my own leg under the table and yelling 'ow!' and Gabe was grounded for a week for beating me up."

"You're _evil_," Mush said.

"I get bored." He shrugged.

The door slammed back open and Itey walked in, looking kind of dazed.

"We..." He trailed off.

"_What_?!" Blink yelped.

"We got it." Itey broke into a grin. "We _got_ it! We got in! We're playing!"

"Oh..." Blink stared. "Holy _shit_! Oh my _god_!"

Blink attacked Mush, and kissed him so hard they were all pretty sure Mush was about to die, but then Race grabbed Itey and Dutchy, and slung his arms around their necks. Spot yanked Race away and gave him a long kiss on the mouth while everyone else cheered and José closed his eyes at the public gayness.

"Told you," Spot grinned. "Idiot."

Race smiled back and kissed him again. In the background, Itey yelped "My amp! You fixed it! Genius!"

"AAAHH, don't _hug me_, you idiot!"

"AAAAH, you're the best brother _ever_!"

"Get off me!"

"You rule!"

_"Get off me!_

Dutchy managed to pull Itey away from his brother, who let out a sigh of relief, only to have Dutchy hug him just as hard, though not for as long; then Dutchy turned around and threw his arms around Itey, then around Mush and Blink (who were still not done kissing), and started to hug Race, but sort of awkwardly stopped. Spot rolled his eyes a little, which Race didn't notice, and Race hugged Dutchy, who looked far too pleased. At least, until Race went back to kissing Spot.

José gave them all weird looks.

Jack pouted. "Sure, no one hugs _me_."

"Because you suck," Spot said, as Dutchy and Itey both threw themselves at Jack jubilantly. Jack had to shove them back off him.

"You guys are _weird_," José noted.

"Oh oh OH!" Itey gasped. "And we're second to last in the lineup!"

There was another pause.

Then there was more screaming, and hugging, and making out, and José fled the garage for the safety of his house before Itey could hug him again.

* * *

F: I am tired and I have exams and I will die.

B: I have to get an internship because otherwise I can't graduate.

F: WHAT? Who are you going to?

B: I don't know. Isn't that fabulous? There are no internships to be had because I missed the deadline and have no qualifications! So I'm certainly not stressed at all right now.

F: I love you and everything will be okay.You can be MY intern.

B: Can you convince my advisor I'm getting on the job newsperson training?

F: I can do _anything_.

B: Anyway. So if you don't hear from us for awhile, it's because we're off having nervous breakdowns.

F: If we die, this fic is so strong, it may live on by itself.

B: Aaaand guess what? We're less than a hundred pages from the end! And you never, ever, ever guess the giant twist in the next chapter.... if we ever post it. Mwahahahaha.

F: Actually, we're going to keep it to ourselves.

B: You don't really want to know anyway. Pooooor Racetrack.

F: Too bad Spot dies.

B: Quite sad, really. See you next time!

F: Bye!

This chapter celebrated with Oreos.


	23. Homeward Bound

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

This little secret is dying to be heard  
But I swore I'd keep it in  
My heart's on my sleeve  
But we painted over it  
It's tragic but it's true  
So get in the car  
We're going for a ride  
The road only knows where it leads  
The sign says it's slippery, but still we speed along  
Over hills and curves  
And I won't look down to the ground  
'Cause I'm afraid of falling  
And I'll hold my tongue till I'm blue  
But I'm not afraid of fighting  
-The Supers, _Secret_

**_Chapter 23: Homeward Bound_**

Everyone huddled on the couch; Mush sitting on Blink, Race and Spot sprawled over each other, Dutchy on the arm, and Jack and Itey next to each other, punching each other's arms in excited, manly fashions. They knew they should have been practicing, but were trying to figure out a setlist so they knew what to practice. But they were really too excited and distracted.

"We rock so much," Blink said, between kisses with Mush. Race had his arms wrapped around Spot's skinny middle, hugging him in a purely non sexual, boyish fashion.

Spot found it slightly cute.

Dutchy was slightly jealous.

Then David came running into the garage. And the atmosphere changed because he looked _horrified_. David nearly never had that sort of expression; the last time he had was Dutchy's OD. And the look on his face was enough to shut everyone up.

Jack stood, and hurried over to him, looking worried. "Davey, what's up?"

"The..." David shook his head, panting. He'd been running. "The news. It...it..." he looked at Race. "Tony..."

"What?" Race asked, his mind immediately turning to his sisters. David couldn't have been home from school long, it wasn't even four yet, so if anything had happened to one of them during the last period... "What?" he asked desperately.

"I wasI was just flipping channels for a minute when I got home, and" He cut off. "You need to see this. Jesus, I don't know what to _say_."

"David, what's wrong?" Race asked again, as David insistently started towards the door into Blink's house. Race followed him closely and everyone else trailed after, confused and nervous, and still jittery from their good news.

David flipped on the TV in the living room and turned the channel to CNN and everyone just _stared_.

It was footage labeled "earlier today" by the text in the corner, with headlines scrolling on the bottom. But the footage itself...

Paulo Higgins was being led from a police car to a jail facility; his head was held high but his hands were cuffed behind him. The look on his face was blank and impassive, and Race recognized it immediately because it was the same expression he'd had on as he'd walked into school, pretending he was utterly unaffected. Paulo's business suit was rumpled and the jacket was torn; his tie was loose and there were a few blood spots on his otherwise pristine white shirt. A deep purple bruise covered the left side of his neck.

There were commentators talking over the footage, but Racetrack barely heard them. Something about the Mafia and the first major step in exposing organized crime for over a decade, multiple murder charges, and, "The infamous hitman Paulo Valentino."

Race sank down into a chair and his eyes never left the screen. He didn't hear the commentators, he didn't hear his friends asking him if he was okay. He barely felt Spot's hand on his shoulder. He just stared.

"Tony? TONY." Spot jostled his shoulder hard enough to snap him out of the daze.

"Holy fuck..." Race mumbled.

David, mercifully, turned off the television, and everyone stared at Race, who just stared blankly at the now dark screen. He couldn't bring himself to look at his friends; he didn't know what to say to them. He didn't even know what to think.

He was unspeakably angry at his father, and he'd always hated that his father was in the mafia.

But he'd never expected his father to get _caught_.

"Tony, are you... Okay?" David asked.

Race shut his eyes. "Need a line," he said vaguely. He said it mostly because he knew how people would react, and he needed to be back in a world where he understood the rules. Spot smacked him sharply upside the head. Blink hesitated, then disappeared into the kitchen; a moment later he reappeared with a bag of hard candy, the cinnamon kind his father liked. "This is all we've got," he said quietly, and handed it to Race.

Race, everyone noticed, was concentrating _far_ too hard on unwrapping the candy.

"Tony..."

"What?" he asked. "What do you want me to _say_?"

There was a pause, and Jack was the only one blunt enough to answer the question that everyone but Spot was dying to know. "Is it... Is it true? Did you _know_?"

Race put the candy in his mouth, shut his eyes again, and took a deep breath. "I don't know anything," he said quietly.

Spot squeezed his shoulder a little bit.

He hated lying to his friends, but...

It was creepy.

He hated lying, but he'd been through the scenario with his Uncle Maurice before, several times. What would happen if someone got caught and his father was arrested. What to say, what not to say, how to act, what to do. And high up on the list was to not admit to knowing anything, not even to his best friends, because the media would _definitely_ ask around, and when it was brought to trial, anyone could be asked if Race had ever said he knew anything. So he couldn't say so.

He bit his lip. He knew that right at that second, no one would believe him, because he just didn't have the will power to be a very good liar right then. He felt drained, like this had put him over the emotional edge and he not only didn't know _what_ to feel, he _couldn't_ feel.

"Tony..." Mush said quietly.

"I should call home." Though he didn't move to stand up. But it was still kind of eerie, because at that moment, Blink's phone started ringing.

Race stared at Blink, and finally, David was the one who answered it.

Race yanked the phone away from him right after his greeting. "Maurice?" Race asked quietly.

"Yes."

He hated how official Maurice sounded. It scared him. But then again, it wasn't like Maurice had been Big Bird lately. Everything was different now; he'd almost forgotten that.

"What do I..." Race looked over his shoulder at his friends. "Do?"

"Deny. Act like you don't know. We've been through this. And make sure HE doesn't talk. You know what that means."

"He won't."

"If he does-"

"He won't!"

"Listen, that faggot-"

"Don't call him that!"

"Anthony, now is not the time" He stopped, and started again. "Marco is already on his way to pick you up."

"What?" Race demanded.

"Your presence is... required."

"But not wanted." He didn't even bother to ask it as a question; his uncle's tone of voice made it _more_ than clear.

"No, _frocio,_ it is _not_ wanted. But we need to keep an eye on you, and on _him_."

"What?"

"You and Sean will both be accompanying Marco home. Do not argue with me. In the mean time, don't leave where you are, don't set foot outside. Is that understood?"

"But"

_"Is that understood?"_

"Yeah."

"Good." The line went dead.

Racetrack blinked a few times, then handed the phone back to David.

"So... what's up?" Jack asked.

Race looked up at him, a look of disbelief on his face. "THIS is what the fuck's up!"

"You didn't know?"

The hesitation in his voice gave him away. He knew it did. They all were his friends; they had him down, and they knew his signs.

But he still couldn't _say_ anything, even if they'd figured it out, even a little.

"No," Race snapped. "I didn't know."

"Not even a hin-"

"Shut up, Jack!" Spot snapped. "It's none of your business. Okay?"

"Fuck you! It's not yours either!"

Spot didn't say anything. He didn't even move to touch Race. Race felt cold. "No," Spot finally snapped. "It's not my business. So I'm not _asking_ about it."

"I have to go... home," Race said quietly. But he knew it wouldn't _be_ home. He knew that house would never be home again.

"You have to?" David asked, concerned. "They can't... They can't force you."

"Not after they kicked you out," Mush added.

Race shook his head a little. "I have to."

"But"

"My sisters will need me." Which was probably true.

"Yeah, but if they"

"Stop," Race said. "Juststop. I have to."

There was a pause, and a lot of exchanged looks between his friends. And finally David just said, "Okay."

He bit his lip, then said, "Spot..."

"It's cool." Spot was trying to be supportive, Race realized, which was something he desperately needed. But Spot missed the point. "You have to."

"It's not just" He broke off. How the hell was he supposed to tell Spot that he wasn't just invited, he didn't have much of a choice? "Theythey said you could come."

"What?" The confusion in Spot's voice echoed what everyone else was feeling. "Why?"

"How the fuck should _I_ know?"

Spot gave him a serious look, then shrugged a little. "Do you want me to, Tony?"

Race shook his head no. "They're not going to be very nice to me, I know that already. So probably not to you, either."

"But do you _want_ me there?" Spot asked again.

Race bit his lip and stared at him. And he did that for a long time. Jack, with an annoyed expression, stepped forward. "Hey, why the hell should SPOT have to get caught up in your...creepy, weird, INSANE mob family!"

Spot glared. "Jack, shut UP."

"No, I won't shut up!" Jack turned to look at him, pointing his finger, looking kind of frantic. "For fuck's sake, this is getting _ridiculous_! He shows up, his dad goes nuts on us, Dutchy OD's"

"Shut up, Jack," Dutchy snapped.

Jack seemed to be in some sort of shock, talking without really knowing what the hell was coming out of his mouth. "I'm not _going_ to shut up! What the hell does it take to make you fucking normal, Tony? Why do you fuck things up?"

"You want _normal_, Jack?" Race yelled. "Do you know how fucking much I wish I was YOU?"

Which kind of took everyone aback. No one said anything, and Race continued yelling because he had too much frustration he'd been locking in, and at least yelling was _some_ sort of release.

"You oror fucking _anyone_ but me! You think" he almost started laughing, "you think my life was sweet? I'd give up fucking _everything_ I've _ever_ had to be fucking normal! To _not_ have a drug problem, to _not_ have my dad, to _not_ have to go back there nowI'd do anything but there's nothing I _can_ do! It's all fucked up, _I'm_ all fucked up and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it!"

Jack half-turned away from him and didn't say anything. Spot put his hand back on Race's shoulder; Race pulled away from him.

"Tony..." David said quietly.

"Whatever." Race didn't feel like talking. He wanted to be numb; he wanted to be unconscious. Almost without thinking, he shoved another candy in his mouth.

Spot cleared his throat a little.

"So," Spot finally said.

"Spot"

"I'm going," Spot said.

"_Sean_" Jack started.

"Shut the fuck up, Jack." Spot glared.

"What the hell is WRONG with you, Sean?" Jack yelled, too frustrated to care exactly who he was yelling at.

"Jack!" David broke in. "Calm _down_, yelling isn't going to do anyone any good."

"But"

"No, serious," David continued. "I know..." He wasn't sure how to say it without sounding like he was talking about Race while Race was right there listening, but there really wasn't another way. "I know Tony better than you do. He needs someone to keep him from..." He trailed off.

"Fucking up again?" Race muttered bitterly.

David shrugged. "Yeah, that."

"I thought he had sisters," Jack shot back.

"I _do_. And knowing my family, they'll be strictly forbidden to _speak_ to me." Race crunched the candy and began to unwrap another piece. Dutchy hesitantly took one too, and Race felt worse, which he hadn't thought was possible. Because now he was so fucked up that he was stressing Dutchy to the point of craving, too.

"Tony..." Itey said quietly. "Is Sophia..." He trailed off.

Race shrugged. "She'll be... Probably... pretty freaked out."

"Like you," he said.

"Yeah. _Fuck,_ I fucking _hate_ him!" He clenched and unclenched his fist. "I fucking _hate_ him, I'm not even in the damn family anymore and he's _still_ fucking up my life!"

"I can't even..." Jack shook his head. "Can't even listen to this anymore. Fuck all of you, sit with him and baby him all you want because I've fucking had it!"

"Jack!" David exclaimed. But Jack pushed by him, and before anyone could say a word, he was out the door.

David swore, and sat down next to Race. Everyone was completely silent. There was nothing they could really _say._

"Davey..." Race said finally, patting his back. "If you wanna go after him..."

"No..." David shook his head. "No, no, he's being a shit head. I can't go and cradle him every time he throws a tantrum."

"You always have before," Itey said logically.

This caused a long silence, until finally David looked at Race, raising his eyebrows.

Race didn't want him to go, but then again, David was always his mother. Shouldn't he just let him off once?

He wanted to; he wanted to let them all off. He wanted to let them all walk away from him and never look back.

But he needed them. And it was hard to accept that

"Fuck," he mumbled finally. "Davehe's your best friend. Go on. I'm fine."

"You're really not."

"Yeah, but there's nothing anyone can do about that now."

David still hesitated. "Are you"

"Davey, just _go_."

"I'll call you tonight," David promised, and quickly headed off after Jack.

"You know you didn't do anything wrong," Mush said, finally moving to sit down on the couch, Blink following suit. "He's..." Mush shrugged.

"He doesn't know how to handle his...you know, he's bad at worrying about people and Sean so...and he's a drama queen," Blink supplied. "Which is supposed to be _my_ job. Fucker."

Race snorted.

"You want to get going?" Spot asked.

"They're having me picked up."

Dutchy gave him a weird look. "Your family is scary. Is your dad really"

"I don't KNOW!"

"Valentino," Itey supplied hesitantly. "They said his name was... Valentino."

Race shrugged.

"...Tony?" Mush asked.

"Before we moved here from Chicago, that was our name. He changed it, but he never told me why or anything. I was only, like, six or seven..."

Itey raised an eyebrow. Race averted his eyes. Something about Itey; something about the way he looked at you when you were lying. He just knew you were. Blink, Mush and Dutchy didn't seem to have a clue. And Spot wasn't talking.

"So...you don't know a thing?"

"No."

"Okay...no ideas"

"It's not like the movies, okay?" Race snapped.

"How would you know?"

"I don't see any...I don't know anything!" Race stood up. "Listen, if you keep bugging me, you can't date Sophie any more!"

Itey paled. "Tony"

"Ah!" He raised his hand. "I don't want to talk, fuck everything." He sat back down. "Goddamnit..."

There wasn't anymore talking after that, because no one had a clue about what to say. So they waited for Marco. And they waited for Jack and David to come home, but they didn't.

When the doorbell rang, everyone jumped a little; Blink answered it and walked back into the room with Marco at his heels.

For a moment, Race was startled; Marco wasn't wearing his usual slightly rumpled suit. But it made sense. If they were going to act the part of a normal family, probably the guy who worked a cushy job for his father's company wasn't going to wear a suit outside of work. But over the past few years, Race had gotten used to seeing Marco dressed up... With his hair slightly messy and wearing a t-shirt and cords, he looked so _normal_. Well. He kind of looked like an Abercrombie model, but he didn't look like a Mafia man.

Race glanced at Dutchy, who he expected to be drooling, but Dutchy looked totally cold. So did everyone else in the room. Which was kind of reassuring; they all had a good enough idea of what Race's family was like to treat the cousin sent to pick up him like...

Like the family was going to treat Race.

But there was nothing really he could do about that, so he stood and just watched Marco, who just watched him back. And finally said, "We should go. Someone will be by to get your things and your car later."

Race nodded, grabbed Spot's hand, and followed Marco outside. He noted that Marco was actually using his own car and not the black van the Family used. Yeah, they wanted to look normal. But really, there was nothing normal about the situation.

Marco said nothing as Spot and Race walked behind him to the car. And Race kept a firm hold on Spot's hand. He was probably hurting him, but right now, he wanted the entire freaking world to see that _yes_, he was a guy, and _yes_, he was holding another guy's hand. They loved each other, and they fucked. Often. Well, they were getting there.

Speaking of which, Race wanted to right now, which meant it was getting therapeutic, which also meant he was just as fucked up as he thought.

Marco jumped in the car, and unlocked the doors. He didn't say a word as they got inside.

Finally, they started off, and Race watched Blink's house fade off in the distance. He felt like he was going to hell.

"The cops are gonna be on us," Marco said seriously. "Twig, you better know what the fuck to do."

"Sorry, Twig? Yeah, don't know a twig," Spot said, leaning back arrogantly in his seat.

"Don't play games with me."

"Don't call me twig."

"Spot," Race snapped under his breath.

"Faggot; sure. Call me that, 'cause hey, it's true. I'm a fucking cock-sucking fag, and I can't keep my hands to myself. Right?"

Marco was clearly trying to keep a hold on his temper and finally snapped, "You're walking into the lion's den here, _twig_. Uncle Paulo was _set up_ and we don't know who did it, and guess what? You're about the only outsider walking around who knows who we are. Which puts you in a position you _really_ don't want to be in. So _don't_ fuck around."

"He was set up?" Race repeated. "How the hell can you not know who"

"We're _working_ on it!" Marco snapped.

"How could it even HAPPEN?"

"Like you care."

Race stared for a second, then leant back in the seat. "You know what? You're right. I don't care. He fucking deserves to be in jail."

And that was the last thing anyone said on the ride home.

* * *

There were a lot of extra cars parked in the driveway and Race only recognized Isabella's, but was relatively certain that one was Maurice's as well. He wondered why the hell the whole mafia would decide to go hang out at the house of the guy who was arrested; were they actually stupid?

_Probably_, Race thought bitterly, and grabbed Spot's hand as they walked up the path to the door.

He spent the walk working up his righteous indignation, reminding himself that it was _their_ problem, not his, and he'd done nothing wrong. Spot's grip was tight and Race was grateful he had something he could feel.

He opened the door, and standing in the foyer were his mother, Uncle Maurice, and Mario. They all watched him silently, and he only spent a moment watching them back. "So I guess a welcome home for the prodigal son is too much to ask," he finally spat, and pushed past them into the house, half-dragging Spot behind him.

He didn't hear anything, really, and all he knew was that Spot was still linked to him. He wasn't lost. Spot was with him.

But still.

When he walked into that living room, and saw Maria's face, he felt less... choked.

Maria jumped out of her seat, and no one could stop her from jumping on him, literally.

Race hugged her back; she was trembling.

And it was then he really realized just how bad his sisters must feel. Maria, who never really knew what was happening, and Sophia, who just pretended it didn't.

Isabella sat still, staring at him, and they made eye contact over Maria's head.

"Hey, Iz," Race nodded.

She nodded her head, letting out a long, long sigh. Which was Isabella's way of crying.

"I'm glad you're here," she finally said, as Maria finally disentangled herself from Race.

"Wish I felt the same," Race answered, and kissed the top of Maria's head before she could wonder if that comment applied to her.

"Have you been okay?" Isabella asked. "I was going to check on you when..."

"I've been fine," he answered. "Freaked out. But okay."

"I'm so pissed."

"Me too!" Maria put in, grabbing Race's arm.

"About Dad?"

"About how Dad treated you, idiot," Sophia corrected. "How... Everyone else feels, too."

"...Thanks?" he said tentatively. "I don't want you to"

"Tony."

He glanced back and saw Mario standing in the door. "You and Sean will be staying in the downstairs apartment. We'll... invite you up when it's appropriate."

"You'll _what_?" Race asked.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "In other words, Tony, they don't want to admit that people like you and Sean exist in their close minded, bigoted vision of the world; and could you please stay away from the women and children, so we don't get infected?"

"Isabella"

"Am I _wrong_?" she snapped at Mario.

He ignored her. "Tony, go. Now, please."

The downstairs apartment was separated from the rest of the basement except the bathroom, with a small fridge, stove, a television and a couch that opened into a bed. It was designed so they could rent out a room and give the renter privacy, though they hadn't had anyone in it that Race could remember. And now, he was fairly certain, it wasn't so he and Spot could have their privacy so much as his family didn't even want to _look_ at him.

But at least Isabella was supporting him. That was worth something... Worth a lot, really. So he wordlessly started to the isolated downstairs room, Spot following him closely.

When they finally got downstairs, Spot went right for the fridge.

"Uh" Race started, and then Spot whistled.

"You got booze in this thing," he said, pulling out a beer. "Jesus, someone's been staying here."

"What?" Race, momentarily forgetting his troubles (Spot did that to him), rushed over to the fridge. Indeed, inside, there was a case of beer, and a half-eaten angel food cake. "Woah...then I guess...maybe Marco stays here without saying? I dunno."

"Beer," Spot said, taking a swig. "Ugh, I need more. Maybe he's got some harder stuff packed away somewhere 'round here..."

"Spot!" Race punched his arm. "Yeah, real smart, getting smashed and then waltzing upstairs. I can see it now," Race put on a drunk face. "'Uuuuh...I din't tell 'nothing. Whatsa mafia?'"

"You suck at impersonations," Spot took another swig.

"Why are you so calm!"

"Ah ha, I'm in denial." Spot nodded his head and grinned. "So I'm feeling okay."

"Great."

"You know, _you_ could probably use this more than me." Spot shoved a can of beer at Race. "Your family is full of shitheads. Except your sisters. They're okay."

"Yeah. Izzy can say what I want to, without..."

"Getting the shit beat out of her," Spot finished for him. "Drink. Seriously."

"I shouldn't. Because then I get to be the gay, cokehead, fucked up, _alcoholic_ embarrassment to the family."

"Tony, serious. They treat you like shit but you're not." He shrugged. "Your family is an embarrassment to fucking _humanity_, okay?"

Race snorted and opened the beer.

"C'mere," Spot tugged on his shirt sleeve.

"Spot, we can't fuck now."

"I _know,_ ya dirty minded queer. Just c'mere."

Race sighed, and trudged over to sit next to Spot on the couch. Spot slung his arm around his shoulder, and gave him a quick kiss on the side of the mouth.

"Don't get all twitchy. If all else fails, we can steal the car, and high tail it to Canada."

Race grinned. "Canada?"

"Yeah. They have Sloan."

"I'm sold."

"Yeah. And I hear the chicks are hot. And we both know how much we like those."

Race laughed, and Spot took a satisfying sip of his beer. "See? You need me everywhere."

"How can you be such a depressing little asshole usually and so perfect now?" Race stopped. "No, wait, that came out wrong..."

"I got ya," Spot said. He shrugged. "When other people have problems, mine usually kind of drift away and I get new ones. Yours. So..." he shrugged. "Fuck, Tony, I'm just a freaked as you are."

"They won't hurt you," Race said.

"Sure they will. They never really wanted to let me walk away. And hey, Marco already pointed out that they think this whole thing is my fault, which makes me the guy who got your dad arrested _and_ the guy who turned the pure, Catholic little boy into a hellbound sinner."

Race kind of blinked. "You write a lot."

"What?"

"The way you talk when no one else is around, or when you're stressed. You talk like... I don't know. Interesting."

"You're a freak," Spot answered.

"And they _won't_ hurt you," Race said. "Because there's gonna be press all over this and our friends all know where you are. You 'mysteriously disappear' and there's no _way_ they won't get caught."

"God bless the free press," Spot said. "Seriously. Let's go to Canada."

"Can gays get married there?" Race asked.

"How the fuck should I know? And also, uh..."

"It was a _question_, not a _suggestion_," Race said, rolling his eyes. "I love you, but we're only seventeen. What're the odds of us getting... married, or whatever?"

"I dunno." Spot shrugged. "Assuming we both survive this, I ain't going nowhere, though."

Race grabbed his hand. "...Me, neither."

Race stared at him, and after a moment, Spot looked up from his free hand, and stared right back. In his weird, Spot kind of way.

"I really, really love you," Race said.

Spot's expression changed. It was kind of an indescribable expression; one that made Race uncomfortable. It was sort of pained, and really vulnerable.

That was how afraid Spot was. And that how much he needed Race to say 'I love you'.

Race kissed him, and he was sure Spot knew that he was going to be there through everything. As much as he could.

He pulled away, and they stared at the wall, hand in hand, because there wasn't another thing in the world they could have done then but hold hands and love each other.

* * *

Isabella was just sort of staring at Marco as he raided the refrigerator. She wasn't saying anything, but then, she hadn't said much of anything to him since she'd arrived home from college.

He dug until he found a container of soup and put it in the microwave, then turned to her. "Just say it, Izzy. You're dying to."

"You're an asshole."

"I was doing my _job_."

"Your job is to get my baby brother kicked out of the house?"

"My _job_ was to keep an eye on Sean. What the hell was I supposed to do when I heard_that_?"

"Try 'nothing,' Marco," she snapped. "Try talking to Tony, or Sean. Try not letting your own goddamn prejudice fuck up his entire life!"

He winced. He'd rarely ever heard her so angry. In fact... He wasn't certain he'd _ever_ heard her so angry.

"I thought it was important enough to tell Uncle Paulo; how the hell was I supposed to know he'd"

"Because you know _him_!" she interrupted. "Don't pretend you didn't know what was going to happen. It's not like you went out of your way to defend him."

Marco's soup was ready, but he didn't move to get it. "I didn't want to get him kicked out. But..."

"But you're too close minded to stand up for him."

He got his soup then, because he couldn't look back at her. Because she had a valid point.

But it wasn't like he could just forget about what he thought was right and wrong. He'd always looked at... at Sean's kind like they were...

He couldn't even describe it. It wasn't even an option that someone in his family might be _gay_.

He'd panicked when he'd heard them in the garage. He'd panicked, and when he'd called Uncle Paulo, his voice had been wavering and he had babbled. It hadn't been professional.

_Doing my JOB._

Yeah, he had. But he hadn't done it well. He was too... Well, scared, really.

It was kind of funny. He was in the mafia, he carried a gun everywhere he went, and he'd seen underground executions, and yet he was scared by his cousin having sex with a guy.

"Look at you," Isabella snapped. Marco tried to tune her out. "You get my baby brother kicked out, you ruin his life, and then you come here and EAT."

"God DAMN it, Isabella!" he yelled back, slamming the soup down on the counter hard enough that it splashed and burnt his hand. He shook it but didn't run it under water because he was too busy yelling. "You think I'm HAPPY about this? You think a single goddamn thing since Sunday has made me HAPPY?"

"_You're_ unhappy?" she snarled back. "Why don't you ask Tony how HE'S felt since Sunday? Why don't you fucking THINK before you act?"

"Look," he said, attempt to regain his calm but not quite succeeding. "I don't care if Sean is gay. Whatever. I don't care if Tony's friends are gay. They seem nice. But, but Tony"

"What the hell is the difference if it's Tony or one of his friends!"

"The difference is that I'm RELATED to him! The difference is that he and I arewe'rewe've got so damn much in common!"

She snorted. "So what, it's possible for someone _like_ you to be gay, so how do you know _you_ couldn't be?"

"It's not like _that_."

"It's exactly like that. Christ, you're stupid."

He hesitated. "It's an abomination. It's disgusting," he finally muttered.

"Yeah? Well, right now I think _you're_ pretty fucking disgusting." She walked out of the room and left Marco to his thoughts and his soup. He wasn't happy with the first and didn't even taste the second.

* * *

Race couldn't resist the urge to turn on the television. He knew it wasn't such a great idea, but on the other hand he wanted to know what was going on. And it wasn't like anyone upstairs was going to talk to him.

CNN went in cycles and it was only a few minutes before the story about his father came up. He leaned into Spot and listened as someone read the charges that were being brought: murder, accessory to murder, conspiracy, drug trafficking, racketeering, extortion...

He flipped to Cartoon Network instead. On second thought, he didn't want to know. He shuddered a little and Spot put an arm around him. He leaned into Spot just a little bit and wished he knew what to say. Even when they'd been kidnapped, they were able to talk; now there was just so much shit going on that neither one knew where to begin. So they didn't talk, they watched cartoons until there was a knock on the door.

Race was about to get up, but Spot kept a firm grip and said "Yeah?" out loud. Race elbowed him, and switched off the TV.

Marco opened the door. Marco came inside. Marco just stood there.

Race and Spot, who still had his arm about him, didn't really feel like starting up much of a conversation. Race had a pretty good idea what this was going to be about.

The idea of Marco hating him was so incredibly depressing.

"I don't hate you," Marco said.

Oh.

Well.

What?

"What?" Race asked.

"I don't hate you. I kind of hate him." He pointed at Spot. "But not even, really. I don't know. I wouldn't have."

"You're not making sense," Spot said, pulling his arm away from Race and picking up a loose paperback lying on the couch arm. "Fatty."

"I'm not _fat_, twig ass!"

"'I'm not fat! I'm not fat!' _Now_ who sounds like a fag"

Race punched Spot so hard he was surprised Spot didn't snap.

"Ow, fucker!"

"You're going to get yourself killed, moron!" Race snapped.

They both kind of looked at Marco, who looked distinctly uncomfortable at that. So he just ignored it. "I just wanted to say. You know. I'm not... Used to thinking of you like... That. But whatever. I'll get used to it." He glanced around.

"Thinking of him like _what_?" Spot demanded.

Marco managed to only glare a little bit. "Like he's gay. And no, it shouldn't be different, but herewith this familyit _is_ and no one has any clue how to handle it. At least I'm trying."

"Izzy bitchslapped you, huh?" Race mumbled.

"She yelled at me." He held his hand up. "I burnt myself."

"Okay..."

"Because I was pissed that she was right so I wasn't paying attention to... Yeah, anyway. I'm trying." He hesitated. "I'm sorry, _Fante_. I hope you know that." And to Spot, "And... I'm mostly sorry about what I said to you."

"Yeah, right," Spot muttered.

"For what it's worth, I'm still on the not killing you side of the argument."

"Yeah, I'm real glad to hear that. Anyone else up there not looking to blow my brains out?"

Marco hesitated, then sighed. "Honestly? A lot of people would be real happy if you had an accident. But it's not really feasible right now, so..."

"Great."

"Would you rather I lied, Sean?"

"No," Race answered for him, grabbing Spot's arm. "We hate lying about the important things."

And with that he pointedly kissed Spot. On the mouth. With tongue. Spot knew he was doing it just to see how Marco would react, but couldn't really object, and kissed back.

They gave it another few seconds before breaking apart. Marco looked kind of disoriented, then finally said, "Yeah."

Spot raised an eyebrow.

"You can't expect me to like it," Marco said. "But I'll get over it."

So Spot turned back to Race and mused, "So I guess it's a good time to mention Dutchy's crush."

Marco blinked. "Who? Who has a crush on what?"

"'What' is right."

"Spot!" Race snorted, and grinned a little at Marco. "Dutchy. The one we bailed."

"Yeah? He has a crush on you?"

Spot laughed at that, especially when Race shook his head. "Noooo," Spot said. "_You_. You charming little bugger."

Marco blinked, then blanched. Then shook his head. "That's not funny!"

"It _is_!" Spot insisted. "Oh, it's fucking hilarious."

"He' thinks you're pweddy, Marco." Race fluttered his eyelashes.

"I don't... give off that... kind of a vibe, do I?"

Race winced. "I dunno...you _are_ wearing those pants. What d'ya say, Spotty?"

"Fag."

"I am not!" Marco growled. "That's not fucking funny!"

Race and Spot smirked.

Marco caught himself. "Okay. You're fucking with me." He paused. "Right?"

Race started laughing. Spot smirked.

"_Right_?" Marco asked desperately.

"Well, not about Dutchy," Race finally said, giving in.

Marco made a face like he was choking on someone.

"But he figured you were straight," he added, mercifully. Marco looked visibly relieved. "Gee, what, did that _bother_ you, cuz?"

And then Marco actually smiled; Race calling him 'cuz' meant that even if he was still pissed, he'd get over it. "I'm sheltered," Marco finally said huffily.

"You're in the _mob_," Spot answered. "How the fuck are you sheltered?"

"You're an ass," Marco muttered. "So, uh. How long were you two, uh? You know... Uh?"

Race rolled his eyes. "Since before you met him," he said. "And he didn't turn me gay, so stop thinking that."

"I so did, though."

"Shut up, Spot."

"I _so_ did."

"Shut _up_, Spot."

Spot smirked, but then, Spot had already been smirking. Marco gave them an odd look. "Okay. Well... Uh... Cool. I guess. Um... I should probably go be doing something. I just wanted to... Talk."

"Thanks," Race said, and was surprised that he actually meant it.

"Whatever, cuz. See you at dinner, Sean." He waved a little and let himself back out.

Spot turned to Race, grinning a little. "I'm so fucking hot; the entire family wants me."

"Except my dad."

"Well, he's just jealous."

"Yeah, that's what he is." Race hung his head, picking at his nails. Spot picked up his hand and tugged at his arm. "What?"

"I know he's a bastard, but...you don't hate him, I guess, so...how you doing?"

Race smiled. "Look who's going sooooffttt..."

Spot snorted. "Shut up."

"You are."

"Not."

"I love you."

"I don't love you."

Race kissed his neck, but didn't go any further; his thoughts were somewhere else. He just wanted Spot to know that him being there was absolutely everything right now.

Finally, Race said, "I do kind of hate him. But not for the mafia... thing."

Spot cocked his head a little. "You hate him because of Sunday?"

"Yeah." Race pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned on Spot's shoulder. "It's justparents are supposed to love their kids, right? And mine won't, and it's only because of this. They still cared about me even when I was on drugs, but since I like _boys_... I'm a piece of shit to them suddenly." He shuddered. "I hate it."

"They don't deserve you," Spot answered. "Serious, Tony. They put you through more than you ever did to them."

Race was quiet. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He wanted Spot to tell him that they did love him; they just had a hard way of showing it.

But he knew that wasn't so.

"Besides." Spot shrugged. "You got Maria and Sophie and Iz, right? I mean, they're dorks, but you got them and...listen, you have someone."

Race glanced accusingly at him. "What's that mean?"

Spot shrugged. "I know things suck, okay? I do, but they could be a lot worse. You're gonna be okay. Not for awhile, but you will."

Race snorted. "Fuck you."

"No time."

"No, serious."

Spot shrugged again.

Race hesitated, then kissed Spot, because he needed something to take his mind off of how much he hated his family. And Spot was kissing back and it was working, his mind was slipping into its usual Spot daze, when a harsh voice cut in, "That's fucking disgusting."

Race pulled back quickly and whirled around to see Maurice and Mario standing just inside the doorway, glaring. He suddenly felt a little ill, and gripped at Spot's hand desperately.

Mario looked a little less pissed off than Maurice, though maybe that was just because Race wasn't _his_ nephew. He raised an eyebrow. "I'd hoped Paulo was exaggerating."

Race shrugged a little, not sure what to say. He knew there was an interrogation of some sort coming, and that probably Spot's life was suddenly back in danger. Which made him squeeze Spot's hand even tighter. He wondered if it hurt, but if it did, Spot didn't let on. Spot just sat next to him and glared at the two mobsters who'd interrupted them.

"Anthony, how _could_ you" Maurice started, then stopped abruptly and turned his attention to Spot. "We have some questions for you, Conlon. Why is it that... What, two weeks?... After you learned of our Family, one of our members is arrested?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Spot answered, knowing what was being insinuated. "I kept my fucking mouth shut."

"Really."

"Yes, really!" Race snapped.

"I wasn't speaking to you," Maurice spat back at him. "Sean"

"YES, fucking REALLY. Christ, you had me followed or bugged or whatever the fuck it is you guys do, you should KNOW that. I didn't want to get my goddamn head blown off so I kept my mouth shut!"

Maurice shot a look at Mario, who shrugged. "No one heard him say anything."

"Because I _didn't_."

"But we weren't able to have him followed in school. He could easily have told a teacher."

Spot snorted. "Yeah, 'cause you know, if I told a teacher, they totally wouldn't put me back in the Foster Center or off to Juvie."

There was a silence.

"You," Maurice snarled. "Keep your mouth shut, and come with us. Anthony, Maria is asking for you. If you mention one word about this fucking HOBBY of yours"

"She already _knows_."

"I don't care; don't infest the child with your filth."

Race bit his lip, and Spot bravely stood up, and didn't look back at Race as Maurice and Mario led him out of the room. Race was sure it was because of how nervous Spot was. If Spot looked at him, Race knew he might lose his bravado, might lose his cool completely.

He took a deep breath and hurried for the stairs to see his sisters. When he reached the living room, Sophie was cuddling Maria close to her chest, looking much too sullen for his tastes.

Izzy looked mean. Not sassy or intelligent, just mean. This was how she had looked during his addiction.

Izzy hid things with anger.

Race wordlessly sat on the couch next to Sophia, and Maria moved just enough to be cuddled in his arms instead of hers. He knew he was clinging to her as much as she was too him, and wondered if maybe that was a little pathetic, but didn't care. Because he so desperately wanted things to be normal, but nothing was. Nothing could be, anymore.

Finally, he mumbled, "I missed you."

"It's _bullshit_, Tony!" Isabella finally yelled, not able to contain herself. "I tried to talk to Dad beforebefore this, and to Mom and Maurice and no one will listen and this is all utter bullshit!"

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I've been forbidden to talk about it, and since they're probably upstairs beating the shit out of my boyfriend now anyway, I don't want to make things worse."

"I hate this, Tony," Sophia said quietly. "All of this. It all sucks so much..."

"Yeah." He gave Maria another tight squeeze. "Yeah," he repeated. "So what do we do?"

"Nothing. We can't do anything." Isabella crossed her arms and glared at nothing in particular. "It's all bullshit."

"Can you not say that around _Carina_?" Race asked weakly. Isabella just continued ranting under her breath. She glanced at Sophia, and sighed.

"You gonna tell him?"

Sophia shrugged, and stared silently and wordlessly at the wall.

"Tell me what?" Race asked, amazed by how quiet and pathetic he was starting to sound.

"Izzy, shut up," Sophia said. It was very unconvincing and Isabella paid no heed.

"They won't let her see Gabriel anymore, either."

"I know it's nothing compared to what's happened to you, Tony," Sophia broke in quickly. "You know, so"

Race grabbed her hand with his free one. "They all suck ass."

Sophia smiled weakly. "Don't speak that way in front of _Carina_."

"They _do_..." Maria whimpered.

There was another long quiet, and finally Race decided someone absolutely had to break the tension. It made things even worse for him to see how upset his sisters were, and he wasn't going to let them stay that way.

"That really sucks, _Rosetta_," he said mildly, "since it means you won't get to see our gig on Sunday."

She stared at him for a second, then her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "You _got it?"_ she finally squeaked.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Assuming I can, you know, _play_ and stuff..." He shrugged. "We got it."

"Oh my GOD!" Maria squeaked. "That is so cool!"

He glanced at Isabella, who smiled. "Good job, _Fante_."

"It isn't just _me_."

"But still. We'll find a way to see it. Somehow."

* * *

Marco walked vaguely nervously from the bus stop towards Sean's house. He knew he had no reason to be nervous. No one would do anything to him; probably no one would say anything. He was on Race's _side_, even. More or less. But still, he wished that he wasn't the one who got stuck with the job of picking up Race's and Spot's things, and the car.

Well. He didn't mind the car so much. Race had a _nice_ car.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door to Sean's house. It was answered quickly by a not-quite middle aged woman, and he could see David and the kid he'd seen briefly on Sunday night behind her.

"Can I help you?" she demanded.

He nodded a little. "I'm Tony's cousin." He offered her his hand. "Marco Constantine." She looked at his hand as if it was diseased. "I'm just here to pick up his stuff; maybe some things of Sean's, so he can be comfortable spending the night."

"Somehow, I doubt he'll be comfortable spending the night in a house full of bigots, no matter what he's wearing."

He visibly winced a little. "May I come in, please?" he asked politely, ignoring the comment.

She seemed to be debating silently, then nodded and stepped aside, so he could enter. He noticed that David and Sean's brother were both glaring at him, and he held up his hands a little, a gesture of surrender. "I like Sean. He makes Tony happy," he said in response to the comment no one made, knowing he sounded defensive. But... well, he _was_ defensive.

"Is that why he was kicked out of the ho" but Jack was on top of it.

"Get my fucking brother BACK HERE!"

David punched Jack's shoulder. Denise sighed, and crossed her arms defiantly. "I'll go get some of his things. David, go grabs Tony's bag. Jack," she narrowed her eyes at Marco, "don't let him out of your sight."

David and Denise both marched out of the room, looking very high and mighty and kind of glorious. Jack stood proudly, hoping to look so as well, but he banged his knee on the coffee table.

Marco cleared his throat, hiding a laugh. He found it hard to believe Spot's brother was this eccentric, kind of brash teenager standing in front of him, holding his knee and letting out swear words under his breath.

"For what it's worth, I think my uncle was wrong," Marco finally said.

Jack glared at him. "Yeah, that's not worth much. Why the fuck would you kick him out and then bring my _brother_ back with him?"

"_I_ didn't kick him out!"

Jack said nothing.

Marco shrugged and finally said, "Tony's gonna have a nervous breakdown any minute now. Not that I blame him. Sean being there will probably help." And it was only sort of a lie, because all of that was true, even if it wasn't why Spot was there.

Denise walked back into the room, holding a backpack. "He'd better get to school on time."

"He will."

She shoved the bag into Marco's hand, as David walked back into the room, then gave Jack and David a serious look. She turned back to Marco. "We saw the condition Tony was in when he got here Sunday night. Half his face was bruised." She crossed her arms and glared and looked way more dangerous than any of the mafia men Marco saw on a regular basis. "And if I _ever_ see him like that again, I won't hesitate to report it. I won't tolerate child abuse, and if I see it, someone _will_ be brought up on charges."

Marco nodded quickly. "It won't be a problem."

"It had better not be."

"It _won't_."

"And my Sean had better come home safely."

"No one will lay a hand on either one of them," Marco answered.

"Good."

David handed him the bag of Tony's things. "Tell him to do his chem homework."

Jack looked ready to talk, but David shot him a look. "Can it, Jacky. You mean well and do badly."

Jack pouted.

Marco sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. In the long run, he really wanted these people to _like_ him. They were funny. Protective to a hilt. Like him.

Or... like he _had_ been.

"Thanks for your time," he ducked his head, and looked at David and Jack as he stepped out the door. "Listen, I know I've been pretty close minded, but uh, I'm trying not to be, so I hope you two are as happy as Sean and Tony."

David turned so red he looked as if his head was about to explode. Denise snorted and an angry Jack yelled after Marco, who was jumping into the car, "We're _not_ _GAY_, _damn it!"_

As Marco drove back, thoughts were clouding his brain. Thoughts of Uncle Paulo, of his cousins, of what he'd done. For a moment, he regretted his... profession. And wondered briefly what he might have done if he hadn't gone into it.

No.

The only male who would be spared was Race.

He hoped, more than anything, he hadn't ruined the rest of Race's life. Then he laughed, because he knew he shouldn't give himself that much credit. He was just Race's cousin, and Race didn't give a shit what he thought, not after Sunday.

He'd blown it.

He was a bad cousin.

By the time he parked the Lexus in the driveway and made his way inside, dinner was being served. Which normally he'd be looking forward to, because dinner at Race's house was always amazing, and usually fun. Race and Sophia would throw things at each other, and Izzy would make a fool out of him and the rest of the family would join in good naturedly. Race would defend him, and usually end up making a fool of himself, too. Sometimes, Uncle Paulo would even join in with the jokes with is quiet, sardonic sense of humor, if he was in a good mood.

Marco knew dinner was going to be unpleasant tonight, though, no matter how good the food was. But he'd expected a cold war, not to walk into the middle of a nuclear blast.

Race and Spot were nowhere to be seen. Maria was crying quietly, Sophia had an arm around her protectively, and Isabella was yelling. His father was also yelling, while Mario and Aunt Angelina looked on coldly. He shuddered. He'd never seen Angelina look so stone faced before.

He stood in the doorway and tried to figure out what was going on.

"They're_ human beings_, god damn it!"

"You will watch your language, young lady"

"Fuck you!" Isabella screamed. "Fuck you and fuck your bigotry and fuck all of this! He's my brother and if you're too homophobic to let him even eat at the fucking _table_ with his own fucking _sisters_ that I'm sure as hell not eating with _you_."

"Isabella, you WILL mind your manners"

"Or else WHAT?" she demanded, and picked her plate up off the table. "Fuck you, I'm eating downstairs with my _brother_ and his _boyfriend_." She stalked out of the room.

Marco stared after her, but so did everyone else.

"Enough," Maurice finally said. "Let's eat."

Sophia hesitated, then picked up her plate and followed Isabella.

Maria wiped her face with the back of her hand, picked up her own plate and followed Sophia.

Marco stepped into the room. "Thank God you're back," Angelina said. "Please. After dinner, _talk_ to Isabella"

"No, Aunt Angelina," he said, as gently as he could. Because it was pretty clear what had happened. "I'm kind of on her side, this time."

He reached for the plate that had been made up for him, and headed for the downstairs apartment.

When he stepped off that final stair, he heard Isabella exclaim, "What the _fuck_ are you doing down here?"

He wasn't surprised.

Race was halfway through shoveling some kind of pasta in his mouth, and Spot was picking at a small piece of bread. Only a small bite had been taken.

He was impressed, of course, because there was a stove downstairs, and it seemed Race could take care of himself to an extent. He'd clearly had to scrounge for ingredients, but his meal looked pretty decent. Even if the bread had been smuggled downstairs.

"They didn't feed you?" Marco asked.

"Haven't you heard?" Spot mumbled. "Fags don't deserve to eat."

That caused a long silence. Mainly because Spot looked so...fucked up right then. Not even smart alecky, just half-gone into his own world.

Marco wondered what they'd done to him.

"Christ," Marco mumbled, and sat down on the floor, since it was the only place left to sit.

"_What_ are you doing here?" Isabella demanded again.

"Same as you," Marco answered.

"Uh huh. They want you to keep an eye on us?"

"_No_, Isabella. My father is a dickhead and he's wrong. And I'm not going to sit there with them and pretend that he's not. I'm not _that_ good of a son. Sean," he turned his attention easily, not wanting to have to answer any more questions about it, "your mom is scary. You okay?"

"Fine."

Which was clearly a lie, judging both by his tone of voice and the fact that Race put a protective arm around him. And the fact that he let Race do it. Marco swallowed; he knew just how much his father and Mario were capable of, stuff that wouldn't leave marks. Not where they'd be visible, anyway.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"My dad's a real dick and if I could fix things, I would." He shrugged and pointed at Spot's plate. "You gonna eat that?"

Spot shook his head.

"You're gonna get sick, Sean..." Sophia said. Spot didn't say anything. "_Sean_..."

"Let him be," Race said. "He's not hungry."

Sophia dropped it. She too was picking at her plate. Not hungry. "Tony, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know..."

"I'll take care of _everything_," Isabella broke in. "Don't worry. And now that Dad is gone, I think..."

She stopped, and glanced at Maria.

Obviously, Isabella wasn't too heartbroken by the arrest, but Maria had lost both her brother and father in under a week, and she wasn't taking it too well. She hid a sniffle, and bit her lip.

No one said anything else for a while.

Spot was picking at his skin.

Maria wasn't talking.

Race tapped his fingers against his knees and finally mumbled, "See, this is where cocaine helps."

"Don't go giving people ideas," Isabella answered.

"Fine. This is where a lot of alcohol would help. God..." Race trailed off. "How did this even _happen_?" He threw a look at Marco. "Dad didn't get caught because of... Of me?"

Marco shrugged. "Uh... Hard to say, cuz. Could be the Paparellis. Could also be a few other people, your dad has some enemies out there. Or he could just have been distracted..." He trailed off. "No, it's not your fault. It's illegal. We should probably all be in jail."

Maria had been sitting on the floor, leaning against Race's legs, but she moved slightly to lean on Marco and mumbled, "Are you gonna get arrested too?"

Marco leaned against the wall. "Could be. The investigations haven't started yet." He shrugged. "Don't you worry about it, _Carina_. No matter what, Tony and Izzy will take care of you."

"And _me_," Sophia broke in. "I'm not helpless, you know."

Marco turned red. "Right, I never said"

Sophia bit her lip. "Everything is shit, right now. Tony?"

Race glanced at her. "Yeah?"

"If you move out, can we come?" She averted her eyes, blushing slightly. "You know, if you and me and Iz and Maria are all together, it'd be a lot better."

Maria's eyes brightened. "Can we?"

Race stared, and then looked at Isabella. "Iz?"

Isabella shook her head. "You know Mom would find a way to get us back, Tony. Things don't work that way. I have school besides. You're all kids; you can't live on your own."

"Fuck _that_," Sophia snapped.

"I know," Isabella answered. "But it's the truth."

"Is Daddy gonna come home? Or is he like, screwed?" Maria asked.

"Don't say screwed!" Race snapped. Maria ignored him.

Marco sighed. "Depends." Which meant, yeah. He's screwed.

"Marcoooo," she whined. "_Tell_ me, already. I hate it when people won't tell me what's going on!"

"Uh." He looked over at Isabella, who shrugged a little. "See, the thing is... Your dad's involved in some pretty bad stuff, kiddo."

"I... know." Which she probably did on some level; they all _knew_. But it was so hard to actually think of it as being a real, concrete thing. Race hadn't even really believed it until he'd seen it with his own eyes.

"So... If the police know as much as they claim they do... He might not be coming home for a long time."

"How long?"

"I really can't say, Maria. I just don't know what's going to happen." He gave Isabella a look. "Your mom's gonna freak on you, you realize."

"Let her."

"Uh, no. I can probably talk her down, if you want me to. She wanted me to talk to _you."_

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, apparently she mistakenly thinks that someone around here listens to me."

Isabella snorted. "Yeah. Like that's _ever_ happened."

"I know. But... Serious, Izzy, Sophie, Maria... It was pretty awesome that you all walked out like that. You're good sisters." He finally set his plate down. "I haven't been doing so well in the cousin department lately."

"Duh."

Race grinned down at Maria and ruffled her hair. Marco turned red. No one defended him and he hadn't expected them to.

"So, I'm...uh..." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. Tony?"

Race raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I'm... going to do a lot better. Sean?"

Eyes were back on Spot, who didn't say anything, nor did he acknowledge anyone was talking to him. Maria and Sophia were beginning to look a little creeped out. Marco quickly broke in.

"SO I'm going to do what I can to make things better. Well, better than they are now."

Spot shrugged a little. Marco stood up and put a hand on his shoulder; Spot shoved his hand away violently. Marco bit his lip. "Yeah," he said. "I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

"What are you going to"

"Izzy. Trust me." He ruffled Maria's hair a little, and strode purposefully back upstairs, and the adult members of the family turned to stare at him.

"Can I help you?" Angelina finally asked coldly.

"'Hate the sin, love the sinner.'" He stared back at her. "You're his _mother_, Angie. Two weeks ago, you were thanking God he was safe; two _years_ ago you were thanking god he was _alive_. And now you're seriously going to just... Abandon him?" Marco shook his head. "Honestly, I can't believe that. You love him too much. I _know_ you do."

"Did you forget what _you_ heard?" Mario answered. "You were the one who called Paulo"

"Yes. And I shouldn't have. I messed things up very badly on Sunday, but I've already apologized to Tony." He shook his head. "I know you aren't thrilled, but"

"It's just _wrong_!" Maurice yelled at him.

"But he's my cousin so I don't _care_, Dad. I really don't. He's safe, Sean makes him happy, and he's not on drugs at the moment, so what the hell does it even matter?"

Angelina cleared her throat. "Marco, would you please bring the children desert?" She gestured towards the kitchen and got up to walk with him out of the dining room. He wondered what she had to say that she couldn't in front of his father and Mario.

Angelina had baked some sort of very delicate looking cake, and she began to carefully carve it into slices before she spoke. He waited.

"Marco... It's hard for you to understand, you and Tony have always been close."

"You and he are closer. You're his _mother_."

"If it was up to me, I wouldn't have asked him to leave. But his father gave him the choice, and he took it. He'd rather be elsewhere than here; I respect his decision."

"He's seventeen years old and he was going to be grounded until he died, shipped off to military school, and forced to spend his life pretending to be something he's not. He was scared, Angie. _I_ would have been. I heard the gunshot from the car."

Her hand slipped and the knife clattered to the ground.

"Listen; you care about him. You love him. I know you do. I know you're upset and don't know how to deal with him and Sean, but... You'll get used to it. But if you love him, you need to let him know that it's safe here for him _and_ for Sean."

"It isn't." She picked up the knife and began to clean it. "Your father"

"My father isn't in charge. It's your house, and Uncle Paulo isn't here to say otherwise. He's your _son_. If you let things go on like this, you'll not only lose him, but Isabella too. And Sophia, and Maria..."

"I know." She started in on the cake again. "But I don't think it's right."

"Then you have to decide if it's worth losing your children over."

He didn't say anything after that. But when she began to put plates of cake onto a tray for him to carry downstairs, there were pieces for Race and Spot.

He met her eyes and neither one of them smiled. He wondered how long it would be before anyone in their family smiled again.

* * *

B: So. You know how in the last chapter we said we were busy? And that I needed an internship to graduate? Well, I FOUND an internship, and now have a 40 hour work week, am in tech week for a show, and graduation is looming closer and closer. (If you know anyone looking for an entry level journalist, please do let me know.) So, the upshot? I haven't had time to do ANYTHING in MONTHS.

F: Meanwhile, I have rehearsal for the school play of which I'm lead AND sound tech for, rehearsal for Annie Get Your Gun is hardcore, I'm directing a Woody Allen play for the school drama showcase and my actors are having trouble grasping the concept of FAST PACED COMEDY. So, for my spring break, I decided to ditch work in all degrees and just party too much. So I feel a little guilty that B doesn't get two weeks to party like I do...

B: Yeah, but I get senior week. Anyhoo, you should all know that we missed you. Anyway, we're nearing the end of the fic. Aren't you excited?

F: I am. But also...I think we'll go through a withdrawal period.

B: I'll need therapy, that's for sure. Sadly, I'll have no insurance to cover it.

F: I'll be your therapist! -claps-

B: Anyway, enough from us. See you next time!

F: Enjoy the chapter. Hopefully the next part'll be out before summer.

chapter celebrated with Tofutti Cutie fake ice cream sandwiches-


	24. The Morning After

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad  
I got sunshine, in a bag  
I'm useless, but not for long  
The future is coming on  
It's coming on  
It's coming on  
It's coming on  
Finally someone let me out of my cage  
Now, time for me is nothing 'cause I'm counting no age  
Now I couldn't be there  
Now you shouldn't be scared  
I'm good at repairs  
-_Clint Eastwood,_ Gorillaz

**_Chapter 24: The Morning After_**

"Stop _calling_, Itey, no one's gonna pick up."

"Screw you!"

Dutchy and Blink sighed as Itey dialed the number again, for about the eighth time in the past minute. To be fair, Dutchy and Blink had tried calling for about an hour with him, but had stopped eventually, knowing full well it was useless, no matter how worried they were and how many times they called.

Mush was being very level-headed about the whole thing, which was probably because everyone else was a nervous wreck.

Blink was just as worried about Race as the next person, but his thoughts kept drifting to his best friend, who'd been dragged into the whole thing because of his and Race's relationship. He was _really_ worried about Spot.

And Dutchy couldn't get over the whole mafia thing anyway; he was just sitting and staring off into space while Itey went nuts by the phone.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK," Itey finally mumbled and slammed the phone back into the cradle. "She won't answer her cell, the house line is disconnected and if she's not okay--"

"She'll be fine," Mush interrupted. "I know Sophie, okay? She's strong. Probably stronger than Tony. She'll be _fine_."

"I just want to talk to her, to make sure she's okay--and Tony and Spot..." Itey practically threw himself down onto his chair and that was frightening too, because Itey was upset. Itey never really got upset, he was always so... Calm.

The door opened without a knock and everyone stared as Jack and David walked in, looking kind of dazed.

"Any word?" Blink finally asked.

There was a pause, then at the same time, "Marco came by and--" and, "Tony's cousin thinks we're gay!"

"Shut up, Jack," David snapped. "Marco came by. No real information but..." He shrugged. "I think _he's_ sort of okay with Spot and all."

Jack snorted.

"Oh, great. Because we were all just _waiting_ for his approval," Blink added. "The ass."

"_Plus_ he thinks we're gay," Jack pouted.

Dutchy smiled and fluttered his eye lashes. "You are. And it's _sweet_."

"Oh, oh what was that?" Jack asked. "Were you accusing me of drooling over a short-stocked drummer already taken by a girly faced twig? Oh, no, wait, that's YOU!"

Blink laughed. "Good burn."

"Yeah?" Dutchy shot back. "At least I'm not dating _Sarah_."

"Oooohhhhhh!" everyone chorused.

Jack started on a long string of curses and before long had gone for Itey's parents' beer. Luckily, Itey's parents were out at Jose's parent teacher night.

"We should all be so fucking drunk now," Dutchy said, grabbing a beer as well. "Serious."

"Dutchy, it's a Tuesday." David sounded a little pained.

"And our drummer's life is disintegrating around him, Itey can't get in touch with his girlfriend, and Spot is off being threatened by homophobes with guns. Wheeee! Cheers. Happy Tuesday." Dutchy held up his beer.

There was a pause.

And then there was drinking.

No one was really drunk yet when Blink finally asked what _everyone_ wanted to discuss. "So... Do you think he really... You know, is in the mob?"

No one said anything for a second. Itey glanced at David, like he was looking for permission. David shrugged a tiny bit. So Itey cleared his throat and said, "Yeah."

"You think Tony knew?"

Itey nodded. And so did David.

Dutchy, who was far more drunk than anyone else was, let out a long gasp. "If he was IN the mob, I'll go out of my freaking MIND."

"Dutchy..."

"That's HOT."

"So like...wait a second..." Itey cleared his throat. "Back up. You know how Tony was like... taking care of the whole Dutchy in court thing and giving him advice and all that?"

Only David seemed to register what Itey was saying, and his eyes widened. "You don't think..."

"I really do."

"Woah..." David raised his eyebrows and took a polite sip of his beer. "Oh Tony..."

"Oh Tony _what_?" Jack snapped.

"Oh, you should shut up, you really should," said Itey. Jack pouted and David gave the small of his back a pat. Dutchy gasped again and pointed.

"GAY!"

"Fuck YOU!"

"You WANT to because you're GAY!"

"Wait a second." Blink frowned. He wasn't as drunk as Dutchy (mostly because Mush kept giving him disapproving looks,) but he wasn't quite sober, either. He scrunched up his face, thinking hard. "I think Itey just said Tony's in the mafia too!" He turned to Mush. "Did he say that?"

"You're drunk."

"He did!"

Mush sighed and took the beer out of Blink's hand. He gave David and Itey a vaguely annoyed look, then shrugged. "Yeah, Itey said... Something like that."

They all looked at Itey, who looked a little uncomfortable, and finally sighed. "Yeah. Just... You know, Tony got off easy but we figured it was because his family's rich and all and... Whoa, hey, them being so rich makes total sense if his Dad's--yeah. Anyway. But if his family has, you know, connections..."

"But that's not HIM," Jack said.

"BUT, okay... See, his family wouldn't give a shit about Dutchy. But he would. So if HE was involved..." He glanced at Dutchy. "You did get off real easy."

"Community service," Dutchy agreed, and then his eyes went wide. "Whoa. WHOA. Oh my fucking GOD he's in the MAFIA!"

There was a long silence, then Jack muttered, "God DAMN IT," and began to drink again. But at least he didn't storm out of the room.

David cleared his throat. "Itey, would you calm down?"

"But there's no other..."

"Tony isn't in the mafia," David said. "Really, I love him, but he'd screw up. He would. And not to mention, if he was, don't you really think he wouldn't have TIME for a band? God...why are you all so stupid when you're drunk?"

"Why aren't you stupid EVER?" Jack snapped back. "Listen, it would make total sense! God, I swear, if he pulls one fucking mo-"

"Hey, asshole?" Dutchy snapped. "Mafia or no, Tony got me out of jail."

Jack shut up after that, but his face was still contorted into an expression that couldn't really be described.

"Yeah, Jack," Blink snapped. "Stop being a dick."

"Ass."

"Hey, back off," David said. "He's only worried about his brother, stop taking your frustration out on him, okay? Tony is not in the mafia."

"Well, why not?" Mush said.

"I know him too well."

"So do I!"

"But you're not his mom."

They all gave David a weird look at that, and he rolled his eyes. "Oh, come ON. I'm all of your moms. You all know it."

"You know," Mush said, "that was a very weird sentence. 'I'm all of your Moms.' It--"

"Mush. Focus."

"Right." Mush nodded, and Blink kissed his cheek.

"So what I'm saying is that Tony wouldn't--he just _wouldn't_."

"Why not?" Jack demanded. "He shows up in his fancy car, with his damn cell phone and everything he's ever wanted and--"

"Jack, would you chill out?" David snapped. "Tony's not in the mafia because Tony's family all think he's a screw up. Drug addict, remember? Yeah; if I was, I don't know, someone with an interest in SELLING DRUGS, I probably wouldn't want the ADDICT involved. Also, if I was... You know, in the mob... I'd want solid, reliable people; not people prone to nervous breakdowns and... Drug habits."

"You're a little repetitive there, Davey."

"I know. But it's a good point." David sounded like he was daring people to challenge him. No one did.

"But if he isn't in the mob than how did Dutchy get off?" Itey asked.

"Hey, Itey, your girlfriend's a mafia princess!" Dutchy answered drunkenly.

Itey went a little pale.

"Well, that makes the fact that they threatened to kill you if you hurt her a little more scary," Mush noted.

Itey eeped.

"It'sh kinda hot if'ya ask me..." Dutchy slurred.

Itey narrowed his eyes. "I _didn't_."

"Hey," Jack said again. "Don't change the subject. David." Jack turned and looked at him, hard. "How DID Dutchy get off?"

"For fuck's sake, would you stop being such a dick?" David snapped.

Jack's eyes widened a bit in surprise. "Exc_use_ me?"

"I know you're worried about Spot and you have this insecurity complex that everyone will ignore you and think Tony is the greatest, but you know, right now, this entire situation? Yeah, NOT ABOUT YOU! God!" David took a long swig of his beer. "Sometimes you drive me CRAZY."

Jack's face fell. Jack's entire demeanor fell. David glanced at him, then away, then back at him, kind of horrified. "Oh, God, Jack, I didn't mean--"

"No. You're right. I'm a jerk."

"Jack, I didn't--you aren't--"

"I am, and you're right. You're always right."

"Jack--" David broke off, then laughed for a second. "Christ, we are SO gay."

Jack snorted. "Except the part where we're attracted to girls."

"Yeah. Aside from that." David put a hand on his shoulder. "Seriously, just chill. We're all kind of on edge, okay?"

Jack nodded, and leaned into David a little. "Sorry," he mumbled again.

Then they noticed that everyone else was staring at them, and David turned red and Jack started to drink again. "Ladies and gentlemen, the shortest fight in history. The wondercouple is back together," Mush noted.

"Jack doesn't even have to sleep on the couch tonight!" Blink added.

"Shut up..." David mumbled.

Itey cleared his throat. "So..." He glanced around. "Uh, how DID Dutchy get off, then?"

They all considered the question (really just David, Mush and Itey because Jack was a bit of a bubblehead and Dutchy was drunk and since Mush was preoccupied, Blink was almost drunk too) and finally, Mush shrugged.

"Blank," he said. "Maybe he asked his dad?"

"Like his dad would do anything for him," Itey snorted. "He's a dick, remember?"

"You're cynical t'night..." Dutchy grinned at Itey. "I _like_ it..."

Itey made a face. "Plleeaseee just drink and shut up..."

"Maybe Tony just...I dunno, maybe his dad said he would if Tony like, mowed the lawn for a week or something?" Mush said. Everyone was silent. "I'm stupid..."

"No, wait, you're on to something!" Itey exclaimed, taking a long chug from the distracted David's beer bottle. "Like...I dunno..."

"You're such a cheap date..." Blink gave Itey's back a pat.

"Maybe Tony just...god, I have no idea..." David bit his lip.

"WAIT!" Blink yelped suddenly, his eyes going wide again and he nearly fell off his chair. Mush sighed and grabbed his arm to steady him.

"...yes?" Mush finally prompted.

"He said..." He frowned. "That morning. I said he should talk to his dad and he said... Fuck, what was it? That he was going to and that--"

"That his family politics are way more fucked up than any of us know," Mush supplied, because he remembered that morning with amazing clarity. He kissed Blink's cheek. "You're brilliant."

"He said that, too!"

Dutchy was kind of staring at the floor, then reached for another beer and drained half of it before setting it down. No one noticed, which was just as well, because he didn't want anyone to ask him what he'd thought of that morning. Because waking up in the hospital had been more nightmareish than he could really explain.

"So he was pretty much right that we don't understand," David mused. "So there we go. Tony... Got help from his dad. Somehow. And his dad's in the mafia. God. His dad kills people..."

"Don't even TALK about it..." Itey shuddered. "...I'm calling Sophie."

"You know, you're gonna wake up dead one day," Jack mused logically.

Itey started to whine, and Mush gave his back a pat. "Jack is just being mean. And don't call; you're getting drunk. That wouldn't go over too well if you got through."

"I guess there's nothing to do but sit and wait, is there?" David shrugged. "Besides, Tony will let us know what's up sooner or later...he's like that."

"What about Spot?" Blink asked. "How's he gonna do? What if they..."

"I don't _know_ what Spot will do," David replied. "No one does. We just have to...be here, I guess. And he might not even want that."

"Spot always wants that, he just won't admit it," Jack mumbled.

"What?" David gave him a weird look.

Jack shrugged, and David looked at Blink, who shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, Jack, but he'll kick your ass if he ever finds out you said that."

"Spot's... kind of messed up," David said.

"Spot is extremely messed up," Blink answered.

"Hey, that's my brother you're talking about, whore!"

"I know." Blink grinned. "I love him. So do you. And so does Tony, by the way, jackass. Heh. _Jack_ass--"

"Okay, now you SOUND like Spot, and that joke was NEVER FUNNY." Jack crossed his arms and sulked, and David laughed and put an arm around him. And didn't care how much everyone thought he was gay.

David never cared about things like that. Jack really loved that about him.

"I really fucking wish Spot or Tony would just call--"

The phone started ringing.

"Creepy, that's twice today that's happened--"

"Well, ANSWER IT!" Mush yelled at Itey, because it was Itey's house.

"I...Uuh..." Itey gulped. "David!"

"David!"

"David!

"Davesid!"

"Davey!"

"All RIGHT!" David snapped. "Jesus." He picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and finally let out a professional sounding, "Hello?"

"Who is it?"

"Who is it?"

"Who is it?"

"Who's itsa?"

"Daveeeyyy--"

David flipped them all off, and there was a quick silence. David didn't say much for awhile; the person on the other line was talking a LOT.

Finally, David said, "Oh. Fuck."

"Fuck? What fuck? What is going on, Davey--"

"Quiet! What? No, not you, everyone else is--Well, we're worried." Pause. "Of course we're worried." Pause. "Serious, don't argue with me; we love you, idiot. Okay?" Painfully long pause. "Now you're just babbling... Well, you ARE and--What? Okay. Yeah. Yeah. No, we're fine, just worried...

"Yeah, you should have heard Denise, he looked TERRIFIED." David laughed. "Seriously. It was awesome." Pause. "Do your chem homework. Let Spot talk to Jack." Pause. "Okay. O_kay_. Yes. Fine, don't say I never did anything for you. 'Night, Tony." Pause.

Then he held the phone over to Jack, and everyone stared at him, and he sighed. Jack decided to actually take advantage of the fact that the phone was cordless and walked out of the room with it, shutting the door behind him.

"WELL?" Mush finally demanded loudly.

"He's... well, not coping very well." David looked like he didn't want to talk about it. "But he says Sophia's fine."

"Can I talk to her?" Itey demanded.

David stared down at the floor. "Apparently... Uh... Apparently not. They, uh. His family doesn't want..."

"Fuck," Itey mumbled, and David was glad he didn't have to finish the sentence.

"He's pissed about it."

"Will he be okay?"

"No idea." David shrugged. "He's fine now. Except his family is being really... Pretty cruel."

"Big surprise..." Dutchy said. "Big surprise big surprise big surpRISE, BIG surpriiseee--"

"GOD shut him up..." Itey snapped. "I wanna die."

"Stop being suicidal."

"Your MOM is suicidal!"

Blink groaned. Mush gave him a look. "See how stupid being drunk off your ass makes you?"

David sighed. "Anyway, he also said he'd try and explain the next time he saw us. Okay?"

"Yeah..." Mush sighed. "Davey..."

"I'm worried too." Jack entered the room again, and David glanced up at him as he sat back down. "That was quick."

"He didn't talk much..."

"Oh no..."

"Yeah, he was just saying, 'fine,' 'I'm fine,' 'not hungry,' and shit..." Jack ran his hands through his hair. "Which is Spot talk for, 'I'm depressed.'"

Blink bit his lip. "I say we bombard the house and make sure we see them whether the family likes it or not."

"And die?" David said.

"Whatever!"

"Serious. Did you forget the part where the mafia kills people?" David mumbled. "This bites. This is... Fuck, I can't even..."

Jack put a hand on his shoulder.

No one said anything.

And finally Mush muttered, "You know what? This whole thing seriously fucking SUCKS and I am not even a little bit drunk."

"It's _Tuesday_," David said.

"And you're not drunk either!" Mush grabbed the only two remaining beers and shoved one forcefully into David's hands. "There's more at Blink's. Come on. I'm gonna go get totally trashed." He stood up and began to stomp towards the door. Blink followed quickly, and everyone else sort of exchanged looks and then followed Blink.

Mush wanting to drink was a bad, bad sign.

* * *

The couch unfolded into a bed, and Race and Spot were already lying in it, mindless cartoons on the TV again. Because neither one of them knew what to say to the other. They weren't even touching.

Reluctantly, everyone had left them alone for the night. Maria went to bed at nine on the dot, with a bedtime story from Marco, despite her loud protestations that she wanted one from her brother. He and Sophia had school the next day, so around eleven, Marco and Izzy had left them to their own devices as well. But with everyone else gone...

Footsteps echoed down the stairs and Race reached for Spot's hand as he glanced over. He'd expected to see Maurice or Mario, coming to yell at them one last time; maybe Izzy to say goodnight again. He hadn't expected to see his mother.

He stared fixedly at the TV and she cleared her throat.

"Anthony..."

He glanced over at her, then away. Locking emotions down, off his face, was a skill he'd learned from his father, ironically, because it served him so well now that his father was gone. He was angry, he was depressed, he was scared... But all anyone saw was that he was cold.

She tried again. "I suppose I should have specified one of you ought to sleep on the floor."

"I thought you didn't make company sleep on the floor," Race answered, his voice flat.

"You could volunteer."

"I got the impression I was company, too. The unwanted kind."

"Tony..."

He clicked the remote to turn the television off. "You really want to have this fight now, Mom? I have school in the morning. I should go to bed. In the bed I'm sharing with my _boyfriend_."

"This isn't easy for me, Anthony, _don't_ make it harder," she snapped.

"It's not exactly cake for me, either!"

"Don't _yell_ at me, Anthony!"

"I'll yell if I goddamned _want_ to!"

"I'm your mother!"

"You kicked me out of the house!"

Mrs. Higgins sighed. She was a small woman, and never one to yell or punish. That had always been her husband's job. And not once had she ever had to apologize to one of her children. Now that she knew she was supposed to, she didn't know how.

She couldn't help it; she didn't think it was right. How could she? It went against the morals she'd held for her whole life.

But still, a small part of her could tell that this Sean, this Sean she had come to like and almost enjoy to have around, made Race happier than...well, a lot of things.

"Tony..." She shook her head a little. "You're so much like your father, sometimes you scare me."

"I am nothing like that _bigot_."

"You're stubborn and sarcastic and too smart for your own good, except where common sense is involved. If your father wasn't like that, you'd never have been asked to leave. For that matter, if your father wasn't like that, you probably never would have started cocaine."

"So what's your point?"

"But it takes two, Tony. You and your father--endless rounds of fighting."

"Yeah."

"He can deny it all he chooses, but you are very much his son."

"Not exactly a compliment."

"I love him very much." She swallowed. "I love _you_ very much. You're my son. I don't... understand you, sometimes. About some things."

"I'm gay. It's not that hard to understand."

"It's hard for _me_, for all of us. But you _are_ my son. And you will always be my son. Regardless of... Things." She looked over at him, and realized how many ways he even looked like his father. "Goodnight, Tony. Things will feel better tomorrow."

"I doubt that."

"Have faith." She glanced past Racetrack, and said as politely as she could, her voice oddly mousy, "Good... Goodnight, Sean."

He turned around to stare at her blankly, and said nothing.

She beat a fast retreat back up the stairs.

Race sighed, and turned to look at Spot. Who wasn't looking at him. He was flipping through one of the many books he'd taken from the book shelf. Not reading, just flipping. As if the feeling of the pages under his thumbs made everything alright.

Race could hardly stand it; he was destroying someone he loved so much. His sisters, his mother, his friends, and Spot.

He choked on every word he tried to say because Race was never good with words. And he wasn't even sure what Spot wanted.

That made it worse.

"Can't even feel anything..." Spot mumbled.

Race gulped. "What did they do? What did they say?"

"Go to bed."

"Spot?"

But he didn't respond that time.

"Spot. Please, just... say something."

Nothing.

"Spot... Sean, come on. I'm fucking scared. I don't know what's going to happen to either one of us and I don't want to lose you. You--you mean so fucking much to me and you're all I've got _left_ and if I lose you I don't know how the hell I'd cope, so please--"

"Tony," Spot said softly. "I said I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not. The fuckers can't get rid of me this easy, okay?"

Race swallowed. "I hate all of this so much..."

"You'll be okay. You've got me and your sisters and... Marco, even. And it sounds like your mom wants to make peace, so hey, you're fine."

"It's not fine." He shuddered. "She told me to get out, too. I'm not going to forget about it just because she's sorry. And she's only sorry because when the media gets here she needs the family to look cheerful and unified and bullshit like that."

Spot shook his head, smiling a little. "Can you hear yourself? God, I know things suck and you're fucked up and all. I know that and I want it all to be better, but don't ever accuse your mom of not loving you because that's fucking ridiculous." Spot picked at the scabs forming on his knuckles. "She was a bitch, yeah, but she's trying. If she wanted you to be 'cheerful and bullshit', I wouldn't be here."

Race stared at him. "I wanna die."

Spot snaked his arm around Race's waist, and pulled him close with that one arm. "Don't. Ever. Say that."

And then he was quiet again. Race sat in his arms, and Spot smelled his hair and it almost felt like everything was how it should be. Race knew his life would never be how it should be, though, and it was hard to pretend that it was.

He pulled away and looked at Spot. Spot looked back at him, looked him in the eyes. Spot's eyes were amazing.

Race slipped his arms around Spot's shoulders and they slipped under the sheets together. Race wondered if this was the first time they'd ever been so close for so long since they'd been together without wanting to jump each other. But Race didn't want that right now. He wanted to be close to Spot. He wanted Spot's strength and courage and he needed Spot's love. And that was different than wanting the sex. He just wanted to be close, which they were now, and it was far _more_ intimate.

Race reached over to turn out the lamp next to the couch-turned-bed, and Spot grabbed his arm. "I'm gonna... Read for awhile, okay?"

"Sure."

Spot found the book he'd been flipping through and Race lay next to him, Spot put a free arm around Race and flipped pages with his other hand, and after awhile Race fell asleep. Spot read for another few minutes, turned out the light, and wrapped his arms around Race.

He didn't sleep, but it was nice to have Race's breathing to listen to, to pass the hours.

* * *

"RISE AND SHINE!"

Mush and David both yelped, while Jack and Dutchy smiled fondly down at the hung over pair, who, to be frank, looked like shit.

"Not so _loud_," Mush whined.

"Sorry, but Dave's been doing this to us for years," Dutchy shrugged. "TIME TO GET UUUUUPPPP--"

No one knew that David could kick so hard.

They did now, and Dutchy was paying for it as he hopped up and down on one foot and started to whimper, clutching his wounded shin. David sat up, and shot Jack such a glare that he retreated and called for Blink to get them up.

Mush was groaning and rubbing his temple while David was in a _ferociously_ awful mood. He wanted to call Race, to see how he was, and to ask about Spot, but he doubted he had the patience to do anything remotely close to talking.

Itey wandered into the room, already dressed for school. It was amazing, because Itey had gotten just as smashed as the rest of them, and yet he had always claimed he wasn't prone to hangovers. But no one had ever seen him drunk enough to know if it was true. But it clearly was.

He wordlessly held out a bottle of Advil, which David fumbled with until he opened, downed two pills without even water, and handed it to Mush. "I'm gonna go home and shower and change," he muttered, and glanced at Mush.

"Shit, I've skipped too many classes..." Mush mumbled. "Fuck, I can't be late. I've gotta go. All gross. This fucking SUCKS." He was still wearing a very rumpled school uniform from the day before, but he didn't look like his usual model-esque self. He looked kind of hellish.

So by the time they both arrived at school (David a period late, Mush barely on time), David looked cleaned up and Mush still looked like he'd gotten totally drunk the night before. But on the other hand, Mush's hangover was abating, and David's wasn't.

Race kind of stared at them, then commented as casually as he could force himself to sound, "You know, I thought _I_ had a bad night..."

David _glared_. "Shut, the fuck, UP."

Race's eyes popped out of his head as David stormed by him. "Jesus," Race whistled. "What a little bitch."

"Are you okay?..." Mush asked, not listening to Race's comment. "We've been worried sick all night."

"I'll bet."

"It was _worried_ drinking..." Mush tugged on his sleeve. "Are you okay? How's Sophie? And your sisters and Spot?"

"Sophie is my sister too..."

"ANSWER."

"Not _here_," Race said through clenched teeth.

"Tony, serious, we've all been so fucking worried..."

"Mush, I _am_ serious. I seriously can't talk about _anything_ until I've talked to the lawyers, and I can't do that until this afternoon, so..."

"What about practice? Your gig is--"

"I _know_," Race answered. "I know, I had a huge fight with my uncle about it and--never mind. He's a dick. But... Yeah. I'm skipping afternoon classes and instead spending four hours with my father's legal team."

"Four... hours...?"

"Yeah. But at least I get to go to rehearsal. And skip chem."

They caught up with David at his locker, angrily searching for the right book for his first class. Finally, David muttered, "I'm never fucking drinking again. How's Spot?"

Race hesitated, than said, "Coping. Better than I would if I was him... Yeah, my family isn't really nice."

"I got that impression."

"But Marco's driving him home and all, so he should be there when we get home this afternoon."

"Jack was having a hernia," David muttered.

"But David made it beeeetter," Mush grinned. "Didn't you, Davey--"

"FUCK OFF."

Mush shut up. Race ran his hands through his hair. The last thing he wanted was to spend time with his fucking 'family'. All he wanted was his friends, his mother, sisters and Spot. They were real family, not this shit the mob called loyalty.

And then Race's thoughts went to his father. He'd avoided thinking about it because really, he didn't want to think of his father in jail. No matter how much he hated his father, the thought of him in an orange suit and behind bars hurt a lot more than Race had expected it to.

"Itey wants to know how Sophie is..." Mush trailed off. "And me too, because we couldn't ask you and now that we know you and Spot are--"

"She's fine," Race sighed. "Well, not fine, but she's pretending she is. Same with Izzy. Maria cries a lot. I hate my life." He swore. "Thanks for reminding me, Tweedle Dum and Dee."

"It's not like you forgot."

The bell rang.

"_Fuck_, that is fucking _loud_."

"David, go to the nurse's and lie down..." Mush sighed.

"I've got Econ! I can't! I already missed history..."

"And you can copy mine while I'm copying your chem, which, by the way, I'm getting out of again today. Though I'd kind of rather be there than talking to the lawyers." He shuddered at the thought, because he knew that they would be explaining to him just how much he'd fuck up his father's case, what with being the gay drug addict and all. And he knew just enough about the Mafia that he was going to be a very important witness--because he hated the thought of telling more and more lies even more than he hated the thought of his father in jail. Because his father _did_ kind of deserve it.

Even though his father wasn't _really_ a bad person. He'd always tried to be such a good father...

Except for the homophobia...

But even, then, he'd reacted at what he thought was a serious threat to Race's health and safety...

But he killed people...

But he also had risked his life to save Race's...

"Fuck fuck FUCK I fucking hate EVERYTHING!" Race yelled as the hallways flooded with people between classes, which got him a lot of strange looks. He collapsed against the row of lockers and buried his face in his hand, and mumbled, "I don't even know what to think... I don't even know what's real..."

Mush and David glanced at each other, and finally Mush put a protective arm around Race. "You wanna talk?"

"I CAN'T. I fucking wish I could but I really CAN'T. God fucking DAMN I need to be high right now..."

"Don't be dumb!"

"Tonnyyyyy..."

David and Mush answered at the exact same moment. Race found it heartwarming, really, but more irritating.

"I also really want go hug Maria," Race sulked. "She's all messed up and she's not supposed to be because she's TWELVE."

"Go over there now," Mush suggested.

"Can't. The family wants to kill me as it is. I was given strict orders not to _infect_ her with my _perversion."_

Race noted now he was getting some slightly scared looks from a few kids in the hall. He was sure not many had made the connection, since his father had had a different name on the news and their pictures hadn't been shown, but some had seen Mr. Higgins at plenty of band concerts.

He was even more of a freak now.

And he had to get _used_ to this.

"I want drums and cocaine and my baby sister," Race mumbled.

"I want a computer made of solid gold but that's just not in the cards, is it?" David snapped. "Chin up, get a smart ass face on, and get out there and fucking deal with it. We're right here with you, so shut up."

Mush observed David with a leering eye. "I _like_ you this way..."

"Oh for Christ's sake!"

"Your cousin thinks he's gay," Mush whispered conspiratorially, because he knew if he could get Race more focused on making fun of David, Race was less likely to have a total meltdown in school. And David would deal with it.

"He IS gay."

"Your cousin?" David asked innocently. "I certainly didn't get that vibe, but his fashion sense--"

He wondered why Race started laughing abruptly, and waited for Race to get a deep breath.

"Uh?" Mush asked.

"So, uh, funny story." Race ran a hand through his hair as they headed off for class. "Last night, Marco decided he actually ought to apologize to me for being a bigot and, you know, an asshole, and Spot and I managed to convince him that Dutchy thinks he's gay and wants to jump him..."

"Dutchy DOES want to jump him."

"I know!" Race giggled. Because the stress made him laugh. Because he either had to laugh or cry or scream, and laughter was the only option that would work in school. "So now Marco is all worried about his sexuality."

"Ooh, ooh, tell him it runs in the family!" Mush exclaimed. "He'd so take it seriously."

"Is that why he's going around accusing _other_ people of being gay?" David asked kind of tartly.

"Shut up, queer." Race grinned, and David punched his shoulder. "Come ooon, be one! It's fun. You get laid."

"No."

"You know you want to."

"Don't."

"Jack whimpered on his shoulder an' everything," Mush informed, and David just decided to try and shut up and take it.

"That's 'cause David's gay."

"I am not!"

...So much for that plan.

They walked to class this way, berating David all the way, which made David think of how great Jack was, and then berate _himself_.

Race, meanwhile, was trying as hard as he could not to think.

At all.

It wasn't so bad, until they actually got to class. And the teacher just STARED at him. Usually, Race didn't mind Econ; it was sort of interesting, and a lot of reading but not that hard, and the teacher was generally pretty nice. But he just stared at Race as he walked in.

Finally, sort of nervously, he made his way to Race's desk. The other students were giving Race weird looks already, and when the teacher said softly (but not so soft that no one else could hear, and thus the rest of the students all went silent and listened,) "Anthony, ahh... I just wanted to check on you, make sure you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Race answered, all of the tone gone from his voice. He didn't feel like laughing anymore... and he hadn't had such rapid mood swings since he'd been dealing with his addiction and returning to school after rehab. Now he was remembering how much it sucked.

"Well, uh... Your father, and--"

"My father?" Race interrupted. "What, please, go on. ANNOUNCE to everyone that my father just got arrested for having alleged mafia ties and CNN is covering almost nothing but that! Oh oh, and be sure to add that it's less than a week after I got disowned for being gay! OH, and then feel free to remind everyone that I'm also a recovering cocaine addict!" He started cackling; he couldn't help it. He knew Mush and David were exchanging concerned looks. And the teacher looked _terrified_. "No, serious, go on! It's FUNNY, isn't it, how much my life is SHIT! Look, _I'm_ laughing!" He laughed, to prove his point, then his eyes went wide as his brain caught up with him. "Oh. Shit. I need to not be here right now--"

He took off out of the classroom.

Well, he thought dryly in the back of his mind, so much for dealing with it and not drawing attention to himself.

* * *

Spot didn't really talk for most of the day. Which surprised exactly no one. There were no casual conversations, not even to make fun of Jack, and no joking around with Blink in classes. He went to classes and sat in the back and didn't talk to anyone. He didn't even write. He just looked blank.

Gym was the last period of the day, and about the first time anyone heard Spot speak. It was safe for him to attend gym, temporarily; Steve Olsen was now pretending Spot just didn't exist. And even then, the conversation didn't happen until the locker room, when Spot was changing from his grungy, unwashed gym shirt back into his t-shirt, and Blink happened to glance over and see the ring of bruises that covered Spot's waist and ribcage, his whole torso. And he _gaped_.

"Spot..."

Spot didn't say anything, just pulled his shirt the rest of the way on.

"_Spot_, what the hell are those?"

"Nothing."

"I know you're still beat up from the fight, but those bruises were... NOT from a fight in a parking lot. And they were FRESH."

"They're NOTHING."

"Spot--"

"Blink, drop it."

Blink shook his head. "If Tony's family is--doing _that_ to you, I can't drop it. They can't do that."

"Drop. It."

"You can't go back there, Spot. Not if--"

"It's fucking NOTHING and I'll go back if Tony needs me, and I don't give a damn about anything else." He started to stomp away, and Blink hurried to catch up with him.

"But--"

"No."

"I'm gonna tell Jack and Denise--"

"The hell you are!" Spot turned to glare at him. "You can't; you can't say a fucking WORD to ANYONE."

"But--"

"Blink. _Ryan_. This is serious shit and I'm really okay, but if you talk to ANYONE, I won't be. And Tony won't be. I'm fucking SERIOUS."

Blink stared at the ground for a second, then shrugged. "Okay. But--"

"No buts; promise me. Swear to _god_ you won't tell anyone."

Blink swallowed hard. "I just want to say, for the record, that you ought to report those fuckers and bring them up on charges, and that you know Denise would help you do it."

"No."

Blink shrugged. "But if you don't want to, I, uh... I won't tell anyone. Swear to god."

"Okay." Spot started walking again.

"But you still shouldn't go back there."

_"Drop it."_

Blink didn't say anything for awhile after that, either.

* * *

Jack was looking more like a hurt puppy as the day went on. His brother was ignoring him completely. Spot didn't even make fun of his flannel shirt, which was particularly ugly today.

Spot just walked away from his locker after the last bell rang, heading outside, not waiting to grab a ride with anyone else. Jack swore and followed him, knowing Blink was worried. Blink had just _said_ he was worried, while they'd been at their lockers...

He followed Spot all the way down the hall, Spot not saying a word as he went to his locker, grabbed his binder and jacket, and slammed it shut while he turned to face Jack.

"Don't follow me."

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere."

"Where's that?"

Spot growled. "Fuck off."

"Hey..." Jack's face adopted a hurt expression, and he swallowed hard before talking. "Look, I'm reaalllyyy worried about you and you haven't said one word to me, you fucker. That kind of HURTS."

Spot bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at his sneakers. They were falling apart.

"It's not you. Fuck _off_, I'll talk to you later."

"You talked to BLINK--"

Spot's head snapped up. "He _told_ you?"

"No..." Jack shook his head. "He said he talked to you, but he wouldn't tell me any of the conversation. And besides, I wanted to talk to you myself. Listen, this whole Tony thing--"

"This whole TONY thing happens to be my thing. I'll see you later, go fuck David or something."

Spot turned on his heel to leave, but Jack grabbed the back of his shirt, and whirled him around.

And _hugged_ him.

Now Spot was REALLY pissed.

"For fuck's sake, let me fucking go!" he snarled. "JACK!"

Jack pulled away wordlessly. "I'll talk to you tonight."

"How about you go to HELL."

"Be safe."

"FUCK YOU!"

And Jack just walked off. Calmly. Probably the only calm thing Jack had ever done in his life.

Spot swore furiously under his breath and stormed outside, glancing around, waiting for Marco to pick him up.

He was supposed to see the 'family' again today. Something about being a fucking witness. He didn't want anything to do with them after what they had...

He wanted Race really badly.

And he grudgingly admitted that at least Jack wasn't being a fucker. Spot touched his stomach, and marveled slightly at the inward curve. He hadn't eaten for two days.

He wasn't hungry. Just fucked up.

But Race was more fucked up and Spot planned on being there for _him_ and sucking up his own pain. He didn't care how hard it would be. Race needed him. That was what mattered.

Marco pulled up in front of the school just as the rest of Spot's friends were walking out, and they all saw him wordlessly climb into the passenger's seat.

"You okay?" Marco asked, as he pulled out.

"I'm fucking FANTASTIC."

"That's what I figured." Marco handed him a CD to put on. "Tony said you'd like this."

It was Race's Sloan mix, Spot discovered, and he listened to the music and ignored Marco. Which didn't stop Marco from talking to him, but Spot just tuned him out and watched as the scenery changed as they got closer to downtown. And finally, Marco parked in an upscale and ridiculously expensive parking garage, and they walked a block to a ritzy office building, which contained the law firm which was now almost totally focused on proving definitively that Paulo Higgins had nothing whatsoever to do with the Mafia.

Marco led him to a waiting room, and they waited. And finally, the door to the adjacent office opened, and Race walked out.

Race looked absolutely _awful_.

Spot stepped forward, but Marco grabbed the back of his shirt. "Not _here_."

"Fuck _you_."

"No..." Marco mumbled. "I'm serious. If you two act that way around here, you're both screwed."

Spot swore and Race's face positively _fell_. If Race cried, which he hadn't since the night of Dutchy's OD, Spot was sure Race would be bawling now.

Instead, he just looked worn down and tired and Spot elbowed Marco sharply in the side as he came up next to Race. He took his wrist, refraining from holding him in his arms, and mumbled "You doing okay?"

Race shook his head. "God...I hate myself."

"Shut up."

"I _do_."

"Shut up, okay?" Spot glanced back at Marco, who was watching, and mouthed out 'fuck you'. Marco looked hurt. Spot rolled his eyes and turned back to Race. "I love you. So you'll be fine. I rock."

Race smiled a little. "You okay?"

"Who cares?"

"Me."

"Shut up. Look like a smart ass."

Race raised an eyebrow. "David told me that too."

"And what does that tell you?"

"That I look like a smart ass?"

"You guys..." Marco said, quickly coming over to them. "We have to get official, okay? If you act all... Romeo and...Juli...o..." Marco made a face. "Anyway, if you act like that, you'll get your ass kicked and that isn't good."

"Like you care," Spot snorted.

"I _do_."

There was a silence, and finally Marco pulled them slightly away from the other. "We're going in. Spot, fix your hair."

"Fix your _face_."

"Oo-kay!"

Marco didn't smack Spot, though he had the urge to. He just gave Race a pained look. "You have _weird_ tastes, cuz," he muttered, then to Spot, "Seriously; behave yourself. The lawyers are kinda brutal. Just cooperate and..."

"And _what_?" Spot snapped. "What they hell are they going to do, beat the shit out of me? OH, WAIT. Your DAD did that."

Marco bit his lip; he clearly had something to say about that, but didn't. Instead, he gestured towards the office again, followed Spot in, and closed the door.

Race sat on the leather couch for a few minutes.

It was less comfortable than his shrink's leather couch, which was where he'd spent the morning, after he'd run out of class. And, according to his therapist, he was having a full on nervous collapse.

Except that he couldn't _afford_ to have a nervous collapse.

He got up and found a candy machine, bought himself four bags of skittles, and had eaten three and a half of them by the time Spot and Marco emerged from the office. Spot hadn't been kept nearly as long as Race had, and instead of beaten down and exhausted, Spot looked just plain angry, but more alive than he had before.

Right, Race reminded himself. Spot liked a good fight, and he lived to bait people. Yeah; he'd _love_ the legal team...

Spot looked at the Skittles wrappers, and Race checked the clock. It was almost four. It would be quarter of five before they got back to Blink's and could even start rehearsing. He had to be home by eight thirty.

There was no way they'd be prepared to play on Sunday, he realized. But he had to hope for it, because his shrink had spent forever talking about the importance of striving to reach goals and focusing on them, instead of on all the shit going on in his life. Even if it hadn't been phrased quite like that.

He looked up again, and saw Spot was making rude motions with his tongue.

Race grinned half-heartedly and winked back before Marco smacked the both of them. Race went back to worrying about the band and anything besides this. But Spot looked particularly gorgeous when he was energized and mad.

Race really wanted a frustration fuck.

He was sure that wasn't healthy.

Marco sat down on the couch, pulling Spot down on his other side. "Alright, soon as Dad says, we're gone and you're free to go to your band practice."

"Thanks for the _permission_."

"I've had _enough_ out of you--"

"Spot, please," Race piped up. Spot made faces at both of them and went to work picking at his knuckles. Marco made a disgusted face and yanked away the Skittle in Race's hand.

Race glared.

Marco looked apologetic, but the Skittle was already in his mouth and he wasn't about to offer it back. He tried to think of conversation. He wanted to Race to look up to him again, for Spot to like him again. But things didn't seem to be going his way.

Finally, he mumbled, "For what it's worth, I'm trying my hardest. Just... Keep in mind that in the last four days I've had to try and totally change everything I've believed for the past twenty-seven years, and four days is kind of a short time to do that in."

"Next think you know, we'll be telling you Jesus didn't even die for your sins," Spot snapped.

"SEAN--"

Mercifully, Marco's phone went off and after a very brief conversation in Italian, he hung up and pocketed it again. Then groaned. "You two are not going to like this."

"...What?"

"I swear to god, this wasn't my fault."

"_What_?" Race snapped again.

"I get to be your babysitter this afternoon."

"Fuck _you_--"

"Hey, HEY. Not exactly my idea of a good time, either. But on the upside, Dad's home now and has no plans to go back to your place, so at least you don't have to deal with him." Marco shrugged.

"Why the hell do I need a babysitter?" Race muttered angrily, as they started out of the office.

"Because your mom doesn't want to leave you alone when you're, you know, having a nervous breakdown."

"Fuck you."

"It's not entirely a bad thought, cuz. You're not gonna convince me you're _not_ having a craving the size of Texas right now..."

"Fuck YOU."

"...And not even Sean can blame me for wanting to keep you away from that shit."

Spot snorted, and Race said nothing, and Marco gave up. This really was not going to go his way. No matter how hard he tried, he realized, he would probably never be able to make up for getting Spot and Race caught in the first place.

Despite his efforts, they didn't talk to him too much. And by the time they were in the car they ignored him and simply cuddled up in back seat, though Spot did send a few rude gestures his way once in awhile. Marco really hoped he wasn't about to be bombarded by a bunch of boys who hated him.

He was reminded of Sophia refusing to come out of her room that morning. For all he knew, she was still there. Maria had gone to school alone.

Did everyone hate him?

He stopped just outside of Blink's garage (after a brief stop at a gas station to pick up more Skittles), and Race and Spot were out faster than he could breathe. He sighed and slowly followed. Suddenly, he felt like he was forty years old.

It occurred to him he didn't want to do this for the rest of his life, but he quickly pushed the thoughts away.

Spot and Race hurried inside and began chatting in a huddle with the boys, no doubt answering whatever they could, but Marco noticed Sophia's boyfriend, standing slightly alone once he saw the pair were alive and well and not quite ready to talk.

He looked quite miserable as well.

Race made eye contact with Marco and narrowed his eyes again.

"I wanna diieeeee..." Marco said under his breath.

He chose himself a spot on the wall, where he simply stood, as unobtrusively as possible. He was attempting to be professional and adult about this whole thing; the fact of the matter was that Angelina probably didn't even know about her son's nervous breakdown yet. The babysitting assignment had come from his father, and was actually an official job.

But damned if he'd let anyone else know about it.

"You... okay?" David asked Race carefully.

"Functioning at the moment. But that changes quickly, so..." He trailed off. "I fucking need to play something. Let's just practice. I don't want to talk."

"Hey," Jack said from the couch, a bottle of root beer in hand because they'd actually managed to decimate all of Blink's _actual_ beer the night before. "You owe us an explanation. What the hell is going on?"

Race hesitated, then said, "My dad was arrested on mafia related charges; my family is full of assholes. I'm having a nervous breakdown. What the hell do you want to _know_?"

"Is it true?"

"That I'm having a breakdown? Yeah; I've got a note from my shrink and everything."

"About your dad."

And Race said the phrase he'd been told to say, exactly as he'd been coached to. They'd drilled him for tone of voice and everything. He shrugged and commented, "I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Yeah, you would," Jack pressed.

"I really wouldn't."

People's gazes were starting to slip back to Marco on his slice of the wall, but he didn't say anything, and Spot said, "Just lay off it, Jack. He doesn't want to talk."

"You're BOTH impossible," Jack muttered.

Race walked over to the drumset. "Serious, I need to play. We need to be ready for Sunday."

Which got Blink going into his stressed out, lead singer mode, and since Dutchy and Itey were already tuned, they were able to start without any more real discussion.

And, Marco was shocked to discover, they were _good_. But he couldn't decide if he should say so or not.

He considered each of the band members in turn. Race he already knew by heart; all the details of how he looked and what kind of mood he was in. There was no mystery there, as Race's playing was so painfully emotional that Marco _felt_ how fucked up his cousin was.

Itey looked nice enough. His face was a twisted mess of concentration on his bass mixed with concern for his friends and his girlfriend, and he was pretty clearly depressed.

Blink was harder to read. Blink's singing just sounded... Right. It sounded like he'd been singing like this his entire life, not like it reflected what he was thinking or feeling. And the look on his face certainly didn't. He had the rock star look down pat.

But he was really startled to discover himself gazing at Dutchy. He wasn't an expert on male beauty; he'd never thought about it particularly. But he realized that, in a skinny, grunge rock kind of way, Dutchy was actually hot. The ripped jeans guitar player thing just _worked_ for him.

And the Marco realized what he was thinking and tried not to freak out.

But mostly, he realized, the band sounded _good_.

And when they were done, he opened his mouth to say something, but Race cut him off. "One _word_," he snapped. "You're on our turf now."

He didn't like the look on Spot's face as Race said that...

"So just butt out." Race did a drum roll, and gave hit the cymbal. Hard.

"I was just going to say you were good," Marco said timidly.

"Yay," Jack and Spot said in monotone, simultaneous voice. They looked at each other and grinned. "Niiiiice."

"He's just trying to be nice," Dutchy said in a dazed kind of voice.

"Keep it in your pants," David snapped, without looking up from the homework he was working furiously on. Marco pretended very hard not to hear that.

"Shut up, everyone," Blink snapped loudly. "Okay, we're gonna give Beetlebum a try and being, you know, GOOD. Itey, play louder."

"Sorry..."

Dutchy winced with worry, but didn't get a chance to say anything because of Blink's rabid insanity.

As Dutchy was about to strike the opening riff, Jessica walked into the garage.

So his hand kind of dropped and out came a horrible out of key sound.

And a string snapped.

"Guitar ejaculation," Spot and Jack said at the same time, then looked at each other, amazed. "_Nice_!"

Jessica kind of grinned a little. "Hey..."

"What is she doing here--"

"Shut up, Blink, honey," Mush said sleepily from the couch. "Hello, Jessica."

"Hey," Spot gave her a nod, which made her smile too, and then she looked at Dutchy.

"Your...guitar..."

"Ughwa..." Dutchy dove into his case. "I need another G-string. I mean, uh...that is...not a G-STRING, But...uhm." Everyone was snickering, but Marco slicked his hair back and smiled.

"Who's this?" he asked. Jessica turned a little red and giggled.

Dutchy's head snapped up. "Babysit like you're told!"

"You have a _babysitter_?" Jessica repeated.

"No! We don't!" Dutchy's face turned red.

Marco interrupted smoothly, giving Jessica his best smile (which was really awfully damn good). "My cousin's letting me tag along for the afternoon." He held out his hand. "Marco Constantine. And you are?"

She blushed a little and shook his hand. "Jessica... Craig."

"Nice to meet you, Jessica."

Race gave Marco a vaguely confused look. Marco was hot, he supposed, but... Charming? Because Jessica was definitely acting like he was charming. But that didn't quite fit in with his image of Marco as a vaguely incompetent klutz who tripped over his own feet and basically did nothing but eat leftovers. But, he supposed, Marco was probably feeling the need to assert his heterosexuality to anyone who might be questioning it.

Himself included.

_That_ was kind of amusing, though not quite as amusing as the look on Dutchy's face when Jessica smiled at Marco. Or really, not even as amusing as the utterly confused look Marco then gave Race, upon seeing the look Dutchy was giving _him_. And Race remembered that while he'd definitely told Marco that Dutchy liked boys, he'd neglected to mention that Dutchy _also_ liked girls.

Well, Marco would figure it out, and probably make an ass of himself in the process. And that would _definitely_ be amusing to watch.

"We were just, uh, that is... Well, we've got the thing on Sunday and we're... uh..."

"Practicing," Blink finished for him.

She nodded. "I figured. I just wanted to drop by and say hi and all." She smiled at Dutchy a little bit, and Dutchy looked like a deer caught in headlights and finally gave her the most awkward, forced smile she had ever seen. "Good luck with your G-string."

Dutchy actually whimpered, then set down his guitar and began to search for the spare strings in its case. He _knew_ he had them there somewhere, and the search at least meant he didn't have to look at Jessica for awhile.

"You live too far away?" Marco asked. Jessica smiled, knowing full well she was being flirted with, and shrugged.

"I have a car."

"I'll walk you outs--"

"Go walk your MOM!" Dutchy snapped. "Jesus, you're stupider than TONY is!"

Jack, David, Mush and Blink all burst out laughing, while Spot grudgingly joined in. Even Itey grinned a little.

Marco looked open mouthed at Dutchy. "What's that mean?"

Dutchy sighed, and with a courage he didn't know he had, walked towards Jessica. "I'LL walk you to your car."

And he took her wrist and dragged her outside.

Marco blinked, and then looked helplessly at Race. "What?..."

"I didn't get that too much either..." Race's brow furrowed in concentration. "Why am I stupid? What'd I do?"

"Oh god, you're an idiot," Spot supplied.

"Dutchy likes girls too," Mush said civilly.

Silence.

"_Ooooohhhh_."

"Yeah, Marco Polo."

"But..." Race asked. "What did _I_ do?"

"Nevermind..." David trailed off while snickers cascaded through the room.

Outside, Jessica glanced at her car, then at Dutchy. "I was just dropping by, but I thought I might stay and... Who _was_ that? Tony's cousin?"

"No one. Just, uh... Yeah, Tony's cousin."

"He's _cute_."

Dutchy let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like "meep!" and he stared down at the ground. "So... uh... Yeah..." he mumbled.

"Yeah?" she asked. "Yeah... What? You think he's cute too?"

"He ain't bad." Dutchy shrugged. "Just... Ya know, I'm... Thinking more about girls and... Shit, don't mind me. You don't care."

She laughed a little and patted his shoulder. "I should get going; I've got work tonight..."

"Uh... where do you... uh..."

"At the mall A&W. Hey, come in some time when I'm at work and I'll score you free food."

He sort of smiled. "Yeah I might... Do that..."

"Cool. Well I should..."

"Yeah..."

"Good luck with rehearsing."

"Thanks..."

"Give Marco my number." She grinned.

Dutchy winced a little. "Yeah... Sure..."

But they both knew there was no way in hell he was going to do that. She patted his arm again and let herself into her car, and as soon as he stepped back into the garage, everyone was staring at him and giggling, except Marco, who just looked kind of confused.

"She's cute," Marco supplied, hoping to redeem himself.

Dutchy shot him a _look_. "I _know_. I wanna play, I'm turned on now. Playing helps the lack of jerking."

"Oh GOD," Blink blanched. "I hate you so much."

"Sing."

"Beetlebum," Blink turned to Itey. "Wake up, you."

"Awake."

Dutchy's fingers were quivering, and without saying anything, Race tossed him a packet of skittles from his pocket. "I saved a pack for you," and he winked.

Dutchy looked as if he was about to explode, really. Then he cleared his throat, and started his guitar riff.

It was at that moment, for one odd second, something happened.

The music completely _blended_.

Everyone heard it. Even Marco. The drums and the guitar and the bass and the singing all combined perfectly and it sounded...

Amazing.

Spirits lifted slightly. Music was like that.

Marco relaxed against the wall again, glad that at least no one was paying attention to him, since he clearly was never going to be popular in this garage. And Race was right; this was their territory, and he shouldn't intrude on it. Besides, Race getting to hang out with his friends would likely calm him down and keep him from losing his mind again. Because their territory was totally safe and normal, and probably the only place where Race's life felt equally safe and normal.

Marco was determined not to let that get screwed up for him. But that choice was taken out of his hands.

A slick black car screeched to a halt outside as the song ended; two men stepped out. Marco noticed them before the band, and he went from relaxed to tense in under a second. He vaguely recognized the two, as they approached the garage, and they weren't friendly.

Someone had sent them to do something, likely to intimidate Racetrack.

Marco muttered a curse word under his breath, and slowly everyone else noticed the approaching figures, and the band fell silent. Everyone just stared.

"Friends of yours?" David finally asked.

Race shook his head no, and glanced at Marco.

Marco's facial expression was now totally cold and blank.

Race stood up from the set, looking worried. "Marco, what--"

"Shut up."

"But--"

"Be quiet, Racetrack."

Race fell silent, the use of his nickname clearly indicating what this about and just how much he and the others had to keep their mouths shut. Jack didn't look as if he was about to oblige, and in a second, David was next to him, bluntly stuffing marshmallows (carefully stacked around the garage for Race and Dutchy's urges) into Jack's mouth.

Jack made a gurgling sound, and David muttered, "Shut it, Jacky."

Marco stepped forward, suddenly seeming a lot taller and scarier and not a lot like Marco.

"Yeah?" he asked.

The first man, tall and thin, spoke some rapid phrases in Italian. Race paled a little, but no one dared ask for translation.

Marco just raised and eyebrow, unphazed. "I'd appreciate it if you two would leave," he said calmly.

"Yeah, Constantine, I'll bet you would." One of the men smirked. "Still running errands for your daddy?"

"At least I'm not trying to intimidate a bunch of _kids_, Giovanni. I asked politely once; now I'm telling you to get out."

"Yeah, I don't think so." The man--apparently named Giovanni--stepped forward like he was going to walk around Marco, only to have Marco pointedly step in his way. He started to move again, but Marco grabbed his arm and yanked and shoved and it was kind of hard to tell exactly _what_ he did, but he ended up twisting the arm pretty hard up behind Giovanni's back, and it looked not too far from snapping painfully.

Marco glanced over his shoulder at the group in the garage. "Would you all go into the house, please?" he requested, his voice so calm it was frightening.

Giovanni twisted out of his grip and backed off a step. Marco glanced back again. "_Now_, please. Racetrack."

Race gave him a slightly panicked look, and abandoned his drumset to head for the door in to the kitchen. Everyone followed him as soon as he started to move.

Once inside, Race had a look on his face much like a child who had done something so bad that the guilt was rotting away his insides.

"Oh shit..." Race gulped. "Like, the last thing I said to Marco was like, shut up."

"He won't _die_," Spot said confidently, hiding his own worry. "Jesus, settle down, okay? You're fucking going to explode."

"I can't settle!"

"You are."

Jack was about ready to be sick; he hadn't quite worked down the marshmallows yet, and once he finally swallowed, he gagged and ran for the washroom. Everyone else wordlessly just followed Blink into the living room. David sighed and followed Jack off to the washroom.

Blink and Mush were in each other's arms on the loveseat, and while Spot and Race weren't exactly cuddling, Spot put a comforting hand on Race's.

Dutchy settled on the floor, and pulled Itey down with him. Itey looked at Race. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I don't know..."

Itey bit his lip. "Do you want to like, take a nap?"

"Sleep not possible!"

"Jesus..." Dutchy winced at Race. "How much more can a guy _take_--"

"Shut up!" Spot snapped, and kicked Dutchy roughly in the back.

"Fuck," Race mumbled, and pulled his knees up to his chest (getting his shoes on the couch, which wasn't really a problem at Blink's house) and buried his face in his knees. "It's all so fucked up..."

"Tony..."

"It's so fucked up and it's all my fucking fault and now people are here bothering all of YOU and I need a fucking babysitter and oh Jesus fucking Christ I just want to die..."

Spot squeezed his hand sharply. "DON'T talk like that. EVER."

"I fucking do, I don't deserve--I fucking shouldn't have come here, you guys don't need my fucking problems and--"

"Shut up," Blink interrupted. "Because we want you here and we want you in the band and you're our FRIEND so don't even think that."

There was a very loud crash from the garage, and everyone tensed.

"There's a fucking MAFIA SHOWDOWN going on in your fucking GARAGE and you think I'll believe that you don't CARE!"

"Actually, that's kind of cool," Dutchy put in. "I mean... Man, your cousin is _hot_."

"And that's another thing!" Race yelled, looking up from his knees. "MARCO suddenly being all fucking..."

"Competent?" Spot suggested.

"Yes, that!"

"I do that sometimes."

And everyone in the room jerked their heads around to see Marco in the doorway, a bruise forming on the side of his face and neck, and a trickle of blood running down from a cut on his lip. His knuckles were awfully bloodied up too, but somehow he didn't have a single hair out of place.

"Marco, Jesus, are--"

"Fine, _Fante_. I'm fine. I'm gonna clean up, then..." He sighed. "Talk to all of you. _Don't_ go anywhere, okay?"

Everyone nodded a little bit, and Marco walked back into the kitchen.

"Well," Mush commented, "that didn't take him very long."

"I want everyone," Dutchy supplied.

"You Higgins people..." Itey elbowed Race's leg. "You're all amazing."

"Biased," Blink said.

Itey shook his head. "No, I mean, I am, but...you are."

"If it were MY family, they'd all be like, gone. Oh wait, they are." Dutchy smiled at him. "Seriously, at least you know you're loved."

Race looked pissed off for a moment, feeling as if he was being preached at.

They had a point though.

That just made it hurt more. Jack had been right; he brought trouble wherever he went. And he still wanted to die.

He didn't talk, he just let out a choked kind of sound and buried his head in Spot's shoulder.

At that moment, Jack and David were back, Jack looking slightly nauseated, and David just turned to Race and sighed.

"Tony?"

"Mm.." Race answered from Spot's slight embrace.

"I'm going to do your chem homework."

Race looked up. He was silent, and then he beamed. "I _love_ you."

"Yeah, well, you're doing my History... _Right_?"

"Already done; in my bag." Race shrugged. "Just copy it in your own writing."

"When did you do that? You weren't even in class."

"I was waiting for the lawyers..." Race groaned. "I fucking HATE lawyers." He buried his head in Spot's shoulder again. "I hate lawyers and therapists and my father and my uncle and my teachers and almost everyone else I've ever met and, yeah, MYSELF."

Spot wanted to yell at him for talking like that, but sort of understood. Certainly better than anyone else did. So he just put his arm back around Race.

No one said anything for a little while, until Marco walked back in. The bleeding had stopped, but a blood stained gauze was wrapped around his knuckles on his right hand, and the bruise on his face was a little bit more formed. He looked remarkably angry.

"So let's get started," he said, walking into the room and leaning against the wall. "First thing is, if I say I can't talk about something, I _can't_ and don't ask me to. And if I say I don't know something, I _don't_. Got that?"

Everyone nodded, except Race, who hadn't moved off of Spot's shoulder yet.

"_Tony_?"

"I got it..." but he still didn't move. Marco sighed, and looked at Blink.

"I want food. Can I?"

"Uuuh..." Blink gulped. "You can have the HOUSE if you want it."

Marco grinned. "I'm strong."

"Yeah..." Dutchy trailed off.

Marco ignored him. "Listen, when I'm serious, you all have to listen up and not hate me. I'm going to eat and come back. And uh, you?" Marco looked at David. "Wow, sitting by him while he pukes? You two are gonna last."

And he left the room as Jack let out a frustrated yell of, "We're not _GAY_!"

Spot snorted. "You so are."

"Hey. I sat with Tony when he puked, too."

"Because everyone loves Tony," Mush said cheerfully. "So really... You're gay _and_ a slut."

"He is not!" Jack yelled.

"And the jealous boyfriend comes to his defense," Blink added.

They were doing it to try and get Race to stop staring so intently at the floor and maybe smile (or at least, everyone but Jack and David was) but it didn't work.

The thing that finally made Race smile was when Marco yelled, "OW, FUCK!" in the kitchen.

"Should someone check on that?" Itey asked.

Race glanced towards the door, then shrugged. "You okay?" he called.

"Fucking BURNT MYSELF. Where's the damn ice?"

"Uh... In the freezer," Race answered.

"Screw you, cuz!"

And a minute later, Marco returned, holding a bowl of Ramen noodles. Everyone kind of stared at him.

"You... burnt yourself making Ramen?" Race finally asked.

"Shut up."

"Marco, that's just _sad_."

"Shut up. We can't all be talented cooks."

"But... Ramen..."

Marco rolled his eyes, then slurped up a noodle, making an amazingly gross sound. Dutchy pouted a little. It was kind of sad that someone so hot and strong was also gross and incompetent.

Unfortunately, he found himself musing aloud, "You know... Those two combined," he gestured to Marco and Race, "would be, like, the sexiest thing ever."

Spot kicked him again. "Would you get yourself a fucking muzzle?"

Marco made a grossed out face and chose to sit next to Itey. "You're _straight_," he said.

Itey nodded a little, but didn't say much. Marco shrugged and went back to his Ramen, slurping and slurping and Mush looked so appalled he finally spoke.

"Ugh, CLASS is an important factor."

"Sorry, he has none," Race answered.

Marco never responded much when he was busy eating. Spot kept shoving Dutchy with his foot while Jack was being quite an ass indeed and slightly ignoring David.

"Are they gonna leave Tony alone?" Mush asked Marco.

Marco, though he didn't say anything with the amount of noodle slurping going on, nodded his head. "Struck a deal," he finally said with his mouth full.

"What kind?"

Marco didn't respond and Mush pouted. He hated lack of information.

Marco finally finished his soup, and set the bowl down. "So..." he sighed. Everyone waited expectantly. He cleared his throat. "So, yeah. About what just happened there. The thing is, my family is... Well, my dad works for a personal security company, and since all of the craziness with _his_ dad," he jerked his thumb towards Race, "we figured something like that might happen. So he's kind of been made my client, because yeah, I'm a bit pathetic and was only able to get a job working for my dad after college."

"That's not what you told _me_," Race snapped.

"I know. I lied to you, Tony; I do that sometimes." Marco shrugged nonchalantly. "Honestly, I wanted to keep things as normal as possible and somehow announcing, 'yeah, we think someone is gonna come looking for you, so I'm your new bodyguard,' seemed like it might make that nervous breakdown of yours worse. So I did lie, and I'm sorry about that, but it was my attempt at doing the best thing possible."

Race stared at him for a second, then shrugged. "Whatever."

"Wait..." David paused. "Your dad works for a _security company_?"

"Yep."

"...As opposed to, say, the _mob_?"

"Yep."

"Riiiiight."

"You wanna see our books, kid? It's all legit."

"Well, it _would_ be." David rolled his eyes. "So you're not in the mob--apparently--but those guys?"

"I wouldn't know anything about them."

"You knew them by name."

Marco shot a look at Race. "Is he always like that?"

"Smart? Yeah, he sucks."

"Well," Marco turned to David. "Can it."

"YOU can it," Jack said. Then turned red and looked at David. "You hear me? You can it."

David _glared_.

Marco rubbed his hands together a little. "Things might be crazy for awhile, but I got your backs, alright? Things'll be fine...any questions?"

No one said much, but Itey finally glanced up, a little red.

"I miss Sophie."

Then he turned redder and ducked his head. He _really_ hadn't meant to say that. 'Can I call Sophia please, Mr. Marco, sir?' had been the original plan and sure hadn't been what he said.

Marco cleared his throat.

"Uh...alright."

Spot rolled his eyes. "Fuck me, your family is stupid." He looked at Race. "Including you, sexy bitch."

"_Thanks_."

"Yeah," Spot shrugged. "So, Marco, can he talk to Sophia?"

"Me too!" Mush announced.

"Me _three_--"

"Shut up, Jack."

Itey was fiddling with the frays at the bottom of his jeans, and finally Marco sighed.

"The little Mexican can."

Itey smiled at him. "Really?"

Marco reached into his pocket and handed Itey his cellphone. "Mine will get through; yours won't. Here. She's speed number six."

"Six?"

"Yeah. My dad, Tony's dad, Tony's mom, Izzy, Tony, Sophia. You'll never guess who's seventh."

Itey nodded a little and held down the six key until it started dialing, and a moment later Sophia picked up. "I'm still pissed at you, fucker," she snapped.

"Uh... It's me."

Pause. "Gabe?"

"Yeah."

"On... Marco's phone?"

"Yeah."

"What the hell?"

"It's... really complicated and bizarre and--are you all right?"

"I hate my life."

"Do you need me there?"

He could almost hear her smile. "That would be nice. But probably a bad idea, Gabe. Things here are insane."

"_Spot's_ been there..."

"And it hasn't been fun. Is Tony okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Well. Mostly."

"I'll talk to him tonight..." She sighed. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Just worried about you."

"You're so sweet."

"_You're_ so sweet."

"You're sweeter."

"No, _you're_ sweeter."

"You."

"_You_."

"You two are disgusting," Spot commented.

Itey was about to stand to leave, but Marco shook his head. "Hurry it up."

Itey reddened and spoke softer. "Uh...I really need to see you."

"...really?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

She was being coy and Itey really wished Blink didn't have such a knack for making every situation seem dirty.

"He's frustraaateed."

"SHUT UP," Marco and Race snapped.

"Listen, I can't go by another day without...uh..." They were all looking at him again. Marco was motioning at him to hurry it up. "You'rewonderfulMarcoismakingmegobye."

"Fuck him!"

"I really--"

"Listen, I'm seeing you tonight."

"How!"

"Somehow. Don't tell anyone."

"Okay..."

"...Gabe?"

"Yeah?"

"I really need to see you too."

Itey smiled and Marco smacked his shoulder. "I gotta go."

"I'll call you."

Then she hung up and Itey was smiling again.

Spot turned to Race, linking his hand in his. "I won't ever talk like an idiot to you."

"Yeah, 'cause you look like one." Race stuck out his tongue and Spot smacked his head.

Dutchy was almost done with his skittles; he'd prolonged their existence. He emptied half and held his hand out to Race. "Have some."

Race nodded his thanks and stuffed some in his mouth. Marco sighed and checked his watch.

"You kids get back to the band thing. It should be fine."

"It _better_ be..." Blink said. "I'm so sick and tired of people fucking around with my band and making them all depressed."

"You're sweet, really..." Dutchy said tonelessly.

"FUCK yeah I am."

"Tony," Marco murmured, as everyone filed back towards the garage, reaching out to catch his arm. "Don't blame yourself, okay, cuz?"

"It's my fault."

"Nah." Marco switched into Italian. "They were trying to force witnesses and if Sophie or Maria had been with friends, woulda done it there, too."

"'Cause that makes me feel BETTER."

"It's not your fault, though. Okay?"

"Whatever."

"_Fante_, believe me. It's not." He paused, then said casually in English, "Remind me to tell you later about how my dad got kicked out of your house."

There was a pause, and Race and Spot both stared at him, and everyone else realized that must have been a big deal.

"WHAT?" Race finally demanded.

Marco grinned. "Your mom loves you, cuz. And, uh, my dad kind of... Is an asshole."

"No kidding," Spot muttered.

"So he was spouting off his bullshit about... well, _you_ two, she told him to either shut the hell up about her son or get out of her house. He thought she was joking."

"And?"

Marco's grin grew even wider. "I love my dad and all, but I laughed my ass off, seriously. She grabbed him by his freaking ear and dragged him to the door."

Race stared for a second. Then smiled. "He's an asshole."

"Yeah, he is."

"But you're kind of okay."

"Thanks." Marco gave him a genuine smile, and felt a little relieved. "Yeah; thanks, _Fante_. Go play your drums now."

Race had to smile. Marco was more then alright, it would just...take him some time to remember.

So Race grabbed Spot's hand and they both went back into the garage, where Blink was barking orders and Mush was giving him adoring looks of slight frustration (Blink was much too _loud_ sometimes) while David and Jack seemed to be having a silent fight.

Spot kissed Race's neck slightly and then went to sit in between David and Jack on the couch. "Spring IS the season of love, eh?"

Jack punched him.

Race grinned a little again and he and Itey shared looks of relief because Sophia sounded...normal? Happy? Whichever it was, Race was never more happy that Sophia and Itey had found each other, really.

"Tony?" Dutchy mumbled quietly as Itey quickly strummed House of the Rising Sun on his bass, Blink clearing his throat and doing his singer preparation thing. "Tony uh...I just wanted you to know..."

Race waited, and Dutchy said nothing. "Yeah, what?"

Dutchy ran a hand through his hair. "I uh...I was wondering if the reason I got out so easy was because of--"

"Don't ask."

"But is it?"

Race didn't say anything. Dutchy took that as a yes. He smiled. "I really think you're a...trooper."

Race snorted. "Trooper?"

"I'm shutting up now. Go to the drums."

And Dutchy ignored him to strum along with Itey on his guitar. Race shrugged and as soon as he sat down, holding the drumsticks in his hands, he felt almost better. Drums did that for him.

He pounded out a fill, and didn't think.

* * *

Funkie: Well, I'M off for a university audition which I'll have had by the time this is posted I think, so my mind is SOME. WHERE. ELSE.

B: I graduate in, uh, a month and a half. Eep.

F: Grown up!

B: Am not!

F: Okay okay...you better still love newsies.

B: ...

F: Who am I kidding?

B: Newsies isn't a childhood thing, it's a way of life.

F: Amen.

We celebrate this chapter with Big Red gum because chewing it makes Funkie less nervous.


	25. Love the One You're With

**_Everything You've Done Wrong_**

Boy, you're gonna carry that weight,  
Carry that weight a long time  
Boy you're gonna carry that weight,  
Carry that weight a long time  
I never give you my pillow  
I only give you my invitations  
And the middle of the celebrations  
I break down  
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight,  
Carry that weight a long time  
-The Beatles, _Carry That Weight_

_**Chapter 25: Love The One You're With**_

It was late, and the practice was coming to a reluctant end. Itey and Dutchy had a bag full of the stashed goodies from the garage and Dutchy was well halfway through the bag of marshmellows as they waved goodbye and walked out of the garage.

Spot didn't say much as he held his hand on the small of Race's back while Race huddled close to him for comfort. Blink and Mush were saying goodbye in the front yard.

Jack and David weren't saying a word to the other.

Spot rolled his eyes at them and commented without legging go of Race, "Stop being drama queens. We've got more important things going on. Jackass."

"I am not a queen! Stop picking on me!"

Spot led Racetrack back into Blink's house for some privacy. He tossed back, "Yeah, queens is right!" and shut the door.

The silence was very awkward.

Marco hesitated, and gave Jack and David weird looks, then commented, "Uh... Are you two gay? 'Cause people keep calling me stupid, so I figure I can ask stupid questions..."

"No!" Jack yelled, and Marco winced.

"Jack, behave," David snapped.

Jack glared. David glared at Jack.

Marco ran away to wait in the car for Race and Spot, knowing what they were likely doing and not wanting to interrupt. Also not wanting to think about it too much, because when he did he got all freaked out again. And he really needed to be a solid, calm base for Race to lean on for support.

Oddly, Blink walked up to Marco's car as soon as Mush took off, and Marco rolled down the window to talk to him. "Yeah?"

"So, I just want to say that I did see a few huge bruises on Spot when he was changing for gym, and that if I ever, ever, _ever_ have reason to think you had anything to do with them, yeah, that story you told us today? Will be changed a little bit when I tell it in court."

Marco nodded. "Understood."

Blink looked a little surprised that that had worked. "Oh. Okay."

"But Ryan? ...It is Ryan, right?"

"Yeah."

"Ryan, _don't_ threaten my family right now. I'll be watching out for Sean, but keep in mind that we're not in a place where we can take threats lightly. And we respond _badly_ to being threatened."

Blink kind of stared, then shrugged. "I just wanted to make a point."

"I know. Point taken. And I will be watching out for Sean, I like him, and I like him and Tony together. Sort of. So don't worry about it, okay?"

Blink shrugged.

"And your band rocks."

Blink smiled, and waved, and walked back into his house. Spot and Race strolled past him, on their way to the car. They were hand in hand and looking... Well. Race looked kind of dazed and certainly far more happy and calm than he had in days, and Spot looked smug, but quite satisfied.

Finally, they were off, and Blink was in a much better mood now that his band had been praised by a creepy, but hot and kind of generally nice mobster guy. He walked back into his garage, hands shoved in his pockets, and saw that the tension in the air was so thick he could freaking cut it with his _tongue_.

Jack and David were glowering at each other from opposite ends of the couch, Jack looking childish, David looking frustrated.

"Uh," Blink cleared his throat. "You two alright?"

"No!" Jack snapped.

"We're fine!" David said afterward. "Don't bug people!"

"Oh, look who's talking!"

_"I_ am, Mr. 'Oh look at me, the only action I can get is my best friend's slightly desperate older sister.'"

Jack's face turned red. "Asshole."

"It's true!"

"Wow," Blink said, shaking his head. "You know, I'd love to stay and watch this, but uh, it's my garage, and--"

"Shut up, Blink!"

"Don't tell him to shut up!"

Blink kind of stared, then said, "Ooookay. Well. I'm not getting involved, I'm gonna go inside and... ignore you two... uh... Yeah, take as long as you like in there. Bye."

And he dashed for the safety of anywhere that wasn't near the fight.

Jack and David had been best friends since they were ten. In that whole time, they had only ever had three fights, only one of which had been serious. And now they didn't even remember what those fights were about, just that the few days they couldn't talk to each other were the most agonizing times of their lives.

Not that it mattered.

David glared at Jack, and crossed his arms; Jack glared right back.

"I have homework to do," David finally said coldly, and started to pick up his bag.

"Yeah? Must be hard, considering you're also doing Tony's, since you're too much of a pushover to ever tell him no."

David's head shot up and he stared at Jack. "You're right, _Cowboy_. I'm a pushover. It's why I didn't tell you to go to hell years ago." He grabbed his bag and stomped past Jack, out of the garage. Which left Jack with the choice of going after him, since they lived in the same direction, or sitting alone.

And despite the fact that he felt like he'd just been hit with a truck, Jack followed David quickly.

"Hey, you can't walk away from me!" Jack said, knowing full well how pathetic he looked running after David like this, telling him off. "I'm not done talking!"

"I don't care!" David stopped walking and turned around to face him. "You know, I put up with a lot of your shit!"

"I put up with yours!"

"I don't do anything!" David cut him off before Jack could respond. "Listen, yeah, I know, the whole gay thing is annoying, but back there you were trying to _ignore_ me and I've _never_ pulled that."

"So, what, you're mad because I did one thing wrong, like, twenty minutes ago?"

David ignored him. "For years you ditch me for your dates--"

"I _always_ ask you first," Jack snapped. "And if it isn't okay, I don't go. You know that, ass."

"I'm not an ass."

"Yeah, more like arrogant, know-it-all woman."

"Whatever, Jack. At least I'm not a jealous, conceited asshole."

"_What_?" Jack demanded, again matching his pace to David's.

"You heard me. You're so fucking jealous, Jack! Tony's been my friend for two years; I'd die at school without him but you can't _stand_ to know that I'm almost as close to someone else as I am to you. And then he dares to _help Dutchy_ and you freak out because it means someone other than you is important in Dutchy's life, and then he and Spot get together and you _totally_ freak out because, god forbid, Spot found someone who makes him happy who ISN'T YOU. And I'm sick of it. Tony's a good guy and he's seriously getting screwed over right now and he needs support from his friends, and I'm going to give it to him, damn it, whether you like it or not. So you just take your goddamn jealousy and shove it up your ass."

They were at David's house now, but David didn't move to walk inside, and Jack didn't move to walk away. They just kind of stared at each other.

David could tell he really hit home. Jack was biting his bottom lip, and looked angry and tearful at the same time.

Which David didn't want, but he wasn't about to take the words back.

He was hurt. The idea of Jack and him fighting, the idea of Jack acting so fucking impossible... David could hardly stand it.

"I'm not..." Jack's voice cracked. "I'm not jealous."

"Yeah, you are..." But David's voice was softer now, and he quickly stood up straighter, frowning. "And you ruined my day more than those guys that came and beat up Marco did."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is!"

"God_damnit_, Davey, stop it!" Jack ran his hands through his hair. "I'm fucking...I'm _sorry_, okay? Fine, I'll cave, because if you..." He paused and took a breath. "If you back out and leave me behind and stop being my friend, I fucking lose anyway, apology or not."

Which seriously caught David off guard. He set his bag down in the soggy spring grass and turned to face Jack, his face... well, startled. "Jack?"

"What?"

"I'll never stop being your friend, okay? No matter how pissed I am at you. Which I am. But you never have to worry about me leaving you behind because I need you, too."

"You do?" Jack hated how desperately clingy he sounded, but David had grown up so much since they'd stopped going to the same school, and no matter how much time they spent together anyway, Jack couldn't help but feel left behind. Like he wasn't sophisticated enough or smart enough for David's 'new' life.

"Of course I do." David bit his lip a little, then continued quietly, "You remember when we broke the coffee table in the living room? And I was, like... crying so hard, my parents were going to be so pissed, and you..."

Jack smiled a little. "I told them I did it."

David nodded. "Right. No one else would have done that for me... I love Blink and Itey and everyone but you're the only one who would have done that for me and you still are and…You'd do it again in a heartbeat, I know that, and I'd never stop being your friend. God... no wonder people think we're gay."

"Hetero life partners," Jack mused, then, "Yeah, yeah, it doesn't help that sometimes I think I'm in love with you."

There was a very long pause after that.

David was staring, his mouth a little wide. "What did you say?"

Jack blinked, not even realizing what he'd done. "What?"

"Did you just say...?" David shook his head. "Jack, what are you telling me?"

"I..." Then Jack's eyes widened. "No! No, I mean, I'm so straight. I like girls, and sex and breasts, a whole bunch and I..." He stopped ranting, staring at David.

And then, like a huge balloon that suddenly popped, Jack came to a conclusion.

"Holy God, I'm in love with you!"

And David kind of eeped and cowered back slightly. "Jack, you're _straight_, stop being a drama...king."

"No, I am straight but I... _Aaaaugh_, shut me up!"

"I can't! I don't know what to say."

"I know, I know, I'm an idiot, I'm going," Jack turned on his heel and started off down the sidewalk. David hurried after Jack, grabbed his wrist, and whirled him around.

"Jack, you have to level with me. If what you just said is the truth you... just level with me."

"I can't do anything until I know what the hell _you're_ thinking," Jack shot back, avoiding all eye contact.

Finally, David mumbled, "Jack... You're my best friend and all, but... I actually _am_ straight."

"So am I!"

David raised an eyebrow. Jack blushed. "Uh huh."

"Seriously straight! I have sex with your sister! A lot!" He frowned, perhaps realizing that that was a little bit sick if he was really in love with David.

"Do you love her?" David asked.

Which caught Jack by surprise a little, and finally he mumbled, "I... I, uh, care about her."

"But you're not in love with her."

"Not... Not really."

David nodded. "I figured."

"So..."

There was a pause.

"This bites. You know how much easier this would be if, like, I could just say, 'Davey, I'm gay, I've been in love with you since middle school!'?"

David snorted. "Yeah, I know. It's not like we've never heard that confession before..."

"Except no one is in love with us."

David shrugged a little. "_We're_ in love with us."

"What?"

"Well... I don't know. I just... I'm definitely attracted to girls. But I've never wanted to spend time with one the way I do with you... I've never wanted to spend time with _anyone_ the way I do with you."

Jack mumbled, "Does that mean you love me too?"

David took a very deep breath, and rubbed his hands together. Jack recognized that gesture; it meant he was nervous.

But he looked Jack in the eye, which meant he was serious too.

"Yes," he said, nodding, as if telling himself. "I uh... I love you... too."

And they stared at each other, neither one having a clue of an idea what to do.

Had it been anyone else, there would have been kissing and holding and over all a lot of 'I love you' revelation action and sweet nothings.

But Jack and David didn't want each other like that. They were straight. They just loved each other more than anything in the entire known universe. And they were standing on a public sidewalk, which didn't help anything, either.

They walked a few more paces together, silently, back to Blink's garage; and once there they sat on the couch, neither saying anything. Because they didn't know what to say.

David cleared his throat.

Jack coughed.

David clapped his hands together slightly, awkwardly.

Jack cracked his knuckles.

"...Jack, uh--"

Then Blink burst through the door. "Are you freaking done _yet_, because I need to... whoa, intense," Blink saw the serious looks on David and Jack's faces. "What's going on?"

Stares.

"_What_?"

"Go _away_," Jack snapped.

Blink stared at him, then nodded. "Going. No one kill anyone." He disappeared back into the house.

Jack and David weren't touching; they were sitting on opposite sides of the couch. But David looked over and caught Jack's eye, and Jack shrugged a little, and David scooted over to sit closer to him, leaned into Jack a little bit. He wondered, should things like Jack's scent or the strength of Jack's arm as it wrapped around him turn him on?

Because they didn't.

Not even a little bit.

But it felt _right_.

"So now what?" David asked.

"I dunno. Are you still pissed?"

"Are you going to keep acting like a jerk?"

Jack shrugged. "I'll work on it."

"Then I'm not pissed."

"Good. I hate it when you're pissed at me."

"I hate it, too."

"So... now what?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You know everything!"

"Well, I've never had to do anything like _this_ before. Now... uh... I guess we decide... Like, what we are to each other."

"What we... are?" Jack repeated.

"Oh, I don't know. You figure out what we should do."

"I think we should go order pizza for dinner and rent a movie and watch it while you do your homework."

David looked over at him. "So... Avoid the problem, then?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Sounds fun. What movie?" He shoved himself up off the couch, and Jack laughed and followed suit. Because he'd really have followed David anywhere.

It was kind of strange to think about how much he really did love his best friend. In a completely non sexual, but totally romantic way. Very, very odd, indeed.

* * *

Spot hopped out of the car, stretching slightly, and behaving too well for Spot. (He hadn't said a word to Marco for the whole ride; granted, it'd only been a few short minutes).

Race shrugged and followed Spot out of the car, shoving his hands in his pockets, and taking him up to the door.

"Hey," Race poked him. "Don't mope."

"That's your job right now."

"I don't wanna mope."

"Yes you do," Spot grinned. "Though, if I'D just fucked me, I wouldn't be moping either."

Race rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're a de_light_."

"I try."

They nodded their heads, both kind of overwhelmed that this course of events was ending somewhat normally, albeit Race's father being in jail. Still, neither knew what to say to the other, for once.

Denise was watching TV and reading something for work in a manila folder. She glanced up. "Sean, you're home."

"Yep."

She glanced at him, then at Race, and sighed a little. "You two need some sort of hormone reduction therapy."

"Denise!" Spot yelped, but was grinning, and the reached out to grab Race's ass. Race squawked as well and squirmed away. Marco pretended very hard that he hadn't seen anything.

"So are you staying?" she asked.

"Uh..." Spot glanced at Marco. "Am I staying?"

"Up to you." Marco shrugged.

"Well, uh..."

"Stay," Race told him. "It'll probably be easier for everyone."

Spot shrugged. "If you want me there--"

"It's not that I don't want you, just that... I can handle things now."

"Says the guy who had to spend four hours talking to a therapist to deal with his nervous breakdown this morning."

"Shut up." Race shoved him a little. "I'm... Okay, not _fine_, but I'm coping all right now, so it should really be okay. I'll call you if I freak out."

"You'd better."

"I _will_," Race promised.

"Okay, then. I guess."

"I'll bring your stuff back tomorrow."

Spot nodded.

"So... goodnight, then?"

"'Night."

There was a pause. Then they started kissing, and Denise rolled her eyes and went back to the TV, and Marco discovered a sudden fascination with the pattern on the rug. Particularly when they didn't stop kissing for almost a minute. But he did resist the urge to drag them apart, which was a step in the right direction.

He and Race had barely been in his car for a minute when he sighed. "Okay, cuz, we need to talk."

"What? Spot and I--"

"Not about that. About your dad and... All of this."

Race blinked. "Oh," he said. "Okay."

"Listen, uh..." Marco cleared his throat. "The Families are real pissed off, okay? They've been wanting to get your dad out of the run for years, and now that he's been arrested, we're slightly screwed."

Race snorted. "I'm so sorry your business isn't going well for you."

"That isn't what this is about."

"Than what _is_ it about?"

Marco shot him a look. "Listen, Tony, Uncle Paulo did a lot for you. The least you owe him is... Well, at least listen to what he's gone through and--"

"This isn't my business!"

"It is," Marco snapped. "The only way for you to be out of this safe is for all of us, like me and my dad and... and _us_ to get out of the Families. And that's not easy to do."

Race didn't respond.

"So," Marco sighed, "we might be scarce a little while."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Marco groaned. "I'm just trying to tell you that I'm looking out for you, all right? Even if you can't see."

Race shrugged. "If you say so."

"Serious, Tony. We're looking out for you, and your sisters, and Angie."

"Okay. Is that all?"

"I don't know. Can you keep a secret?"

_"What?"_

"Simple question, cuz."

"Why would you need to know if--"

"Yes or no?"

Right. It was one of those things he shouldn't question. So Race said, "Yeah, I've been keeping my mouth shut since I learned to talk, remember?"

"That's what I figured. So here's the thing. Your dad wasn't quite honest with you when he told you about... uh, about our Family, I guess."

"What do you _mean_?"

"We're small time."

"I gathered _that_."

"No, listen. _We_ are. Uncle Paulo is _not_. Uncle Paulo is like... A legend. The big guys listen to him, but he didn't want you to know that because he's kind of ashamed of it."

_"What?"_

"Jesus, Tony, don't you know him at _all_?"

"Guess _not_. If he's not ashamed to be involved with, with _you_ all to begin with, then why--"

"Listen carefully, even though you won't believe it. It's not that he's ashamed, exactly; he just knows that _you_ think he's scum. And he hates that, it's why he's always wanted you to get involved. He wants you to approve of him."

"He _what_!"

"Don't yell in my ear! Christ, what could be worse for a father than knowing your kid looks down on you?"

"Your kid being a gay and addicted to cocaine?" Race suggested.

"This was way before either of those things. You were his pride and joy, you know, the only boy and the heir to the family and all, and you totally rejected everything he did. Which was like a slap in the face, it seriously hurt him. He figured if he could get you involved you'd _have_ to approve. But you didn't, you wouldn't budge, and so when he finally had a chance to get you involved he didn't want you to know how important he really is in everything because he knew you'd be... disgusted by him."

Race shook his head. "That's a load of bullshit."

"I said you wouldn't believe it. But it's up to you. So you want to hear about why your dad is so important or not?"

"...Yeah," Race said finally, curious despite himself.

"He...stands his ground," Marco said, looking confused as to how to tell the story. "Which surprised everybody because he wasn't born _into_ this, he married. He started small, and then suddenly he's this small guy that took over things when no one was looking, and soon all the other small guys like Little Vin and Micki Two-Top--"

"Who?"

Marco ignored him. "--only listened to him. Finally, some of the big guys saw your dad more as potential than a threat, then. So he was brought into the big meetings and he finally got his own thing going. And it was...big. He was fearless and..." Marco shook his head, as if speaking about a God. "And he wouldn't ever back down...then Izzy was in trouble."

Race's face fell. "Izzy?"

"Yeah. Izzy was kidnapped, when she was just a kid, so he changed his name, took his business, and moved off somewhere else to keep her out of it. Anyway, when you were born, he was excited as hell, because I just didn't have _it_ like he did, and that's what he wanted. Someone from our real family to take over."

Race bit his lip. "I don't see how this makes him important, Marco."

"Yeah, I'm getting there. So anyway... Izzy was ten when it happened and you were just a kid and he was so worried about you and her and Sophie, and Angie was pregnant again. So he just said in a meeting one day, he was going to find the people who'd tried to hurt Izzy and make an example of them. And the thing is, no one expected him to _do_ it.

"I mean, he pretty much knew who was responsible, but... like, you don't start wars like that over personal life. Business, sure, but not something personal. But he said that they'd declared war on him by threatening his daughter, and he was determined to make sure that no one ever did it again, so he... Oh, _man_. From what my dad's told me, it was _psycho_."

"What did he _do_?" Race asked.

"Just what he said. He tracked down the guys responsible, and... Well, okay, he killed them. That's what he does, you know that."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, so he didn't stop there. He went to the guy they'd been working for and dealt with _him_, and then the guy above him, and... Like, he brought a whole Family down. I mean, we were hitting their businesses and operations too, but all the higher ups… It was all Uncle Paulo off on his own with a gun, we didn't even hear from him for days at a time. It took months, but after that, _no one_ fucked with your dad. It was crazy, no one was supposed to be able to do that kind of stuff, but he was… really good at it.

"He had everyone scared after that. But they didn't want to piss him off, either, so when he left Chicago for New York, they expected him to start his own family, to become a Don. But he said _no_."

"Wait... He... Why?"

"Because he didn't want to be away from his family. He did it for you guys. He was content to be a mid-ranking hit man and not the guy in charge, to run the New York operation for our Godfather in Chicago. But it's not like he was really so mid-ranking anymore, because any time he suggested _anything_ people jumped to do it. Even the Dons."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so... So no one has ever messed with him since then, but he left a let of people really pissed, wanting him out of the way. There have been, like a dozen tries to kill him but he's like a force of nature, no one can bring him down. But people wanted to. And they'd been planning, but Paparelli fucked it up. He grabbed you and Sean, and your dad went psycho again, and even though he dealt with Paparelli, people were afraid he'd start looking higher up again. So they sped up their plans, leaked a lot of information to the FBI on the grounds that they be let off the hook, and set him up."

"The FBI didn't get the other guys, too?"

"No."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Try 'they couldn't see who they were talking to'."

Race nodded. "So what, they left evidence lying around, and just got a guy to go in for them and spill the beans?"

"Kind of."

"So... Why did Paparelli hate _me_ so much? Dad has way more of a soft spot for Maria and Sophia."

"Yeah, but _they_ didn't stop Uncle Paulo from moving cocaine. So Paparelli and his guys? They were outside our Family, but working in our territory, moving drugs, but your dad wouldn't give them legal protection, so they had to shell out for it themselves. They really hated you because they thought they were being cheated out of loads of cash, which they kind of were..."

Race was looking increasingly more depressed as the conversation went on. "Listen, that's... well... over all, your dad is one tough motherfucker."

"Which is why they got him arrested."

"Well... Okay, yeah. But he'll be okay."

"It's not like it matters. He hates me, anyway." Somehow, the thought of his father hating him was even more depressing now that he'd heard Marco's claim that so much of Paulo's life had centered around protecting his son... And trying to win Race's approval.

When all Race had _really_ wanted was his father's approval.

Sometimes, irony just wasn't funny.

"Uncle Paulo doesn't hate you."

"He threw me out of the house."

"He was angry and shocked... Fuck, _scared_. It's called homo_phobia_ for a reason, Race. You freak us out." Marco snorted. "We're the mafia, we swagger and swear and carry guns, and the thought of two guys caring for each other makes us want to scream like girls."

Race laughed. "Yeah, see, _that's_ funny. I just picture your dad standing on a chair and shrieking like a 1950s housewife who saw a mouse..."

Marco cracked up at the mental image. "Wearing an apron, _God_."

Race added, "Trying to threaten Spot with a broom and screaming."

Then Marco had to pull over, because he was laughing too hard to drive straight.

Race, despite himself, laughed a little too.

The conversation about Paulo Valentino was over, and Marco and Race were trying desperately hard to be the _old_ Marco and Race. But they found that if they didn't try so hard, it came naturally.

So they drove and Race thought a little, because suddenly his father didn't seem so scary anymore. Just sad and angry and kind of an asshole.

Like him.

* * *

When they got back, Maria tackled Race with a hug, and Marco was almost promptly kicked out because Angelina was in a hideous 'Higgins only' mood. Marco finally persuaded her to let him stay when he assured her that Race had indeed laughed in the car, happy.

Race's mother was looking almost ten years older since this had all started. Race blamed himself, Marco, his father...

When had he started hurting this woman so much?

He suddenly couldn't stand the thought of it anymore. So even though he'd been expressly told to relax, do his homework and spend time with his sisters--though he noticed that Sophia was missing, but Izzy and Maria refused to comment on the fact--he walked into the kitchen where his mother was cooking.

She was also, clearly, weeping.

Right. That was why she was cooking in private suddenly; like the rest of the family, Angelina considered herself too strong to break down. And if she was going to do it, she was going to make sure no one else saw.

"Mama?" he asked quietly, and she spun around, startled. "Didn't mean to sneak up, sorry."

"It's... It's all right." She wiped at her eyes. "I hate chopping onions, you do it." She handed him the knife.

_Yeah, Mom,_ he thought. _Because the onions were what was making you cry_.

"Things are going to be all right, Mama," he said, still speaking quietly. "I know it. And... And I can be more responsible around here, help out, you know, until Dad... Until things are settled." Because he wasn't kidding himself and he knew his mother wasn't either, and Paulo Higgins would not be home any time soon.

"Oh, _Tony_..."

Then she was hugging him tightly and he hugged back and she sniffled and he pretended it was just from the onions. It wasn't going to be easy around their house for awhile, but he was determined not to make it any harder.

Later that night, Angelina was tucked in bed, an empty mug of what had previously been tea on her bedside table. Race, Isabella and Maria were crowded down in the basement, watching television as quietly as they could, assuming that no matter how sad, Angelina was still a light sleeper.

"How're you doing?" Isabella asked.

"How are _you_ doing?" he countered. He slung his arm around Maria, and glanced at Isabella, the questions meant for the both of them.

Izzy shrugged. "I dunno. This whole thing sucks."

Race turned to Maria. "You?"

"I don't feel good."

Race hugged her tighter, knowing full well she didn't have anything like a flu.

"Mama's been cooking like a mad woman," Isabella said, sighing as she didn't even bother to look at the channels she was flipping through. "You know, and none of the food tastes too good. She just makes it and throws it out."

"She cried, too," Maria frowned. "God, why can't I be normal like all of my friends?"

"You don't wanna be normal," Race assured. "Never. It's the worst...where's _Rosetta_?"

There was a long silence.

"Where is she?" Race sighed.

Neither of his sister's answered.

"Right, well, I'll take your guilty silence to mean she's at Itey's. Gabe's, I mean."

And again, no answer, but Maria was squirming now which meant that he was right. He sighed. "I'm not gonna freak out; they like each other and she needs someone to lean on right now."

"Good. How's Sean?"

"Black and blue. I fucking _hate_ Maurice right now."

Izzy nodded. "You should have been there when Mama threw him out, it was _awesome_."

"I wish I'd seen it."

"I'm glad you're home, Tony," Maria said in a very quiet voice. "Don't go away again, okay?"

"I'll try not to."

She grabbed his arm. "_Don't_."

He swallowed. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Dutchy didn't often slouch around at the movie theatres in his spare time. Usually, he only came when Itey was just getting off work so he could bum a free movie and they'd see it together. But Itey was off on some secret hot date with Sophia, and Dutchy was stuck waiting for some stupid action movie to start.

He hated waiting in his seat, it made him antsy. Plus, all he could think about was this weird shit going on with Race, and Spot, and everyone.

He also had about a twenty minute wait, just for the previews. He sighed and stared at his watch.

With the concert on Sunday, and everyone being in the shape they were in, Dutchy was nervous about practically everything. Including Race. And Marco. And anything else hot with legs (though they didn't necessarily need legs really...).

"Well, well," he heard this soft, kind of saucy voice behind him. "All alone at the movies?"

Dutchy snapped his head around, and there stood Jessica, sporting an A&W uniform.

She _still_ looked hot.

Dutchy didn't reply, he kind of stared. She grinned. "I work in the A&W," she pointed to the small chain of fast food stalls by the popcorn stands. "If you couldn't tell."

Dutchy cleared his throat. "Nice uniform."

"Thanks."

He reached for the soda he'd bought and gulped down about half of it, glad that he had it. His throat always went kind of dry when Jessica was around. Which was weird, because it wasn't like he only had a crush on _her_ or something. Race didn't affect him like that. No one else did. But for some reason, the perky blond cheerleader who he'd never thought would ever lower herself to talk to... well, to him... made him all skittish. He knew how dumb he sounded around her. But for the life of him, he couldn't help it.

"So, uh... Pretty big day on Sunday, huh?"

"Yeaaaaaaaaah."

"I'm gonna be there, of course."

"You are?" He was a little shocked. "That's... that's, uh, cool." _Right, Dutch_, he told himself. _Way to be slick._

"Soooo..." She trailed off. He stared intently at the stain on the floor in front of him. Finally, she sighed. "Look, Dutch, I already know you like me."

He looked up and stared at her in shock. "Oh," he finally said weakly. Because... Well, so he wasn't exactly subtle, but at the same time he'd never, ever have _told_ her that he liked her. Because she was beautiful and popular and funny and smart, and he was a drug addict who could barely manage two words when she was around. And unlike Jack, he didn't deal well with rejection.

"So, just, I was thinking--"

"You don't like me and that's fine, I already figured, don't worry, you don't have to be nice about it or anything."

She kind of stared at him, and rolled her eyes.

"I was _thinking_, maybe we could go out or something tomorrow."

Dutchy squeaked. "Uh?"

She rolled her eyes, but the smile was still on her face, so he assumed he was doing alright. "Well, if you don't _want_ to..."

"No, no!" Dutchy said quickly. "I'd love to."

She looked at him right in the eye then and smiled once more. Only this wasn't much of a flirtatious smile so much as a sweet smile. Kind of like they were in the fifties and he'd just called her 'the keenest girl in school' or something like that.

"Now, we just pretend that never happened," she said. Dutchy's heart sank.

"Oh...okay, I...I uh--" but she cut him off.

"And rewind, and _you_ ask _me_ on a date," she touched his arm. "Go on."

Dutchy cleared his throat. "Uhm...wh...y?"

"Because I want to hear you say a complete sentence."

He noticed she wasn't wearing any make up, probably because she was working so close to a grill and it was bad for her skin or something. She looked a lot prettier without make up on.

"Uh..." He thought for a second. This was so damn hard, he was way better at getting random hookups than at getting dates. And he hadn't even being doing well on _that_ front lately.

She tapped her fingers impatiently.

"Well, uh... Jessica... I've had a crush on you since, like, fifth grade and was just thinking that... Um, I like to eat out sometimes and was thinking that maybe sometime--uh, tomorrow--you maybe would like to go with me? Please?"

"Sure, I'd love to."

He grinned at her. "Great! I'd, uh, pick you up but I don't so much have a car... or my license at the moment..."

"No problem; I'll come by for you, then."

"Cool."

She hesitated. "I should probably get back to work."

"Oh."

But she put a hand on his shoulder. "But I'll see you when your movie gets out and then I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

He nodded.

"Good. And Dutchy? You don't have to freak out around me. I like you, too." He just stared at her, and she sighed a little. "Well, work on it, anyway."

Dutchy continued staring as she walked back to the minimum wage, completely and entirely non-sexy A&W job, and he had never found her hotter.

He smiled.

Yeah.

He'd work on it.

* * *

"No way," Race said, rummaging through his room, searching franticly for his 'lucky drumsticks'. He barely ever used them, and he'd declared he was going to save them until he was a famous rockstar. He figured this was close enough.

Isabella sighed. "Okay, I _know_ what you're thinking."

"Then the answer should be simple."

"You should go see him, Tony. He's your father."

"He's yours, too."

"And I _am_ going to go see him."

Race glared at her. "_Why_? He... I... He doesn't even _want_ to see me, that's the gist of it, so you have a blast, I'm busy tomorrow anyway."

Izzy came and kneeled down next to him. "I know you're perfectly allowed to act this way, but you can't exactly never talk to him again."

"Why the hell not? You're forgetting, I'm not his son anymore."

"Tony, you're still in the family. You're back home now."

"Yeah, and if he walked back in the house tomorrow and told me to get out, you really think Mom's answer would be, 'Oh, Paulo, he's your _son_! You can't do that!'"

"She told Maurice that."

"So? Dad is the love of her life. Maurice is her _little_ _brother_."

"And you're her only son."

"So?"

"You're _his_ only son, too."

"Maurice's? News to me."

She smacked the back of his head. "Don't be difficult. I know why you don't want to talk to him, of course you have every right be... upset and pissed and depressed... but he's had time to calm down and think, now."

"Yeah, he's got bigger problems. The only reason anyone thinks I _should_ talk to him is so the fucking _media_ doesn't notice we aren't one big, happy family."

"Tony..."

But he kind of had a point. The reporters had finally appeared on Friday, shoving microphones in their faces, snapping pictures and yelling provocative questions. The family _hated_ it. And it was only going to get worse.

The worst were the reporters who were practically paparazzi. One of them went so far as to make vile, and rude comments at both Sophia and Izzy. Race had wanted to punch him out, of course, but Izzy had taken care of it with a few quick, angry comments. He'd had to usher Sophia inside before she could lose her temper, because unlike Izzy, she didn't think before yelling when she got mad.

And his mother, small woman that she was, did not deal well with media. She kind of shrunk up and backed away.

They wouldn't have to go through this if it wasn't for his dad.

He glared at the ground, and Izzy pushed his shoulder slightly to get his attention.

"Tony, I _know_ it looks bad, but if you'd just _talk_ to him..."

No response, just the creaking sound of Race rotating back and forth on the swirling chair.

"Just once. You don't have to talk to him ever again if you want."

"He's never coming home, Izzy," Race said, for the first time really vocalizing what everyone knew but didn't want to say. "He'll be lucky to get off with a life sentence."

"I know." She tried to sound disaffected but really, it was her _father_ they were talking about, and out of all of the Higgins children, Izzy was the closest to him. "I'm going to miss him, Tony."

"He'll miss you."

"He'll miss _you_."

"Doubtful."

"You won't even give him a chance? What if he wants to apologize to you, Racetrack?"

"_Don't_ call me that!" he snapped at her, then, "Yeah, Dad's _real_ big on apologizing to me. He's done it approximately, oh, _never_ in my entire life."

"And when should he have?" she demanded. "He was the best father he could be--"

"He was in the fucking mafia, Izzy!" Race yelled. "And he cared more about his goddamn business than he did about--"

"That's not true and you know it. I know Marco explained to you--"

"So what? He went and killed a bunch of people for our sake? Why the hell did he have to get involved to begin with?"

She sighed. "He _was_ involved, we can't change that now. But he did the best he could, given the circumstances."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Well, it's not like you made it exactly _easy_ for him, Tony!"

Race turned on her, quickly masking the hurt and the anger and just how much he wanted to punch her.

"Oh," he nodded. "Oh, I get it, so, I really shouldn't have tried out this gay thing huh? Should have left it up on the shelf after I tried out crossdressing and prostitution."

"That's not what I meant!" she snapped. "You snorted coke, you asshole!"

"I know that! And I served my time, and I'm working on it, but I don't think pushing me around, pulling a gun on me and my boyfriend, and, you know, sometimes punching me out for kicks is exactly trying his hardest!"

There was a long quiet then, because that was the other thing no one liked to acknowledge. Out of all of the children, Race was the only one who ever had been hit; it was hard for his sisters to watch but significantly harder for him to deal with. And he'd always, _always_ played it down for their sakes; he didn't want to frighten anyone. He figured it went hand in hand with being the son.

But the fact that he hated his father for it was easy to forget when he played it down with so much skill. Because he _was_ good at that. It was like nothing wrong ever happened in the Higgins household.

One big, happy family.

Race felt a little ill and very conflicted. He wanted his dad in jail. His dad _deserved_ to be in jail. But... Still, it was his _dad_ he was talking about and no matter how much he hated the man, family did count for something. Wasn't that what Paulo had said, before kicking him out? When he'd tried to 'save' Race?

Race sat down on his bed and pulled his knees up to his chin. He had a shitty father.

But he wasn't a shitty son. He _wasn't_. He'd never meant to be...

Izzy knew that her 'pep talk' had not gone at all the way she planned, nor had it come out the way she wanted. She folded her arms, and took a seat next to him, also staring at her knees.

"Tony, I don't know what it was like for you..." she muttered. "I know that he treated you differently because you were the boy, and you got addicted to crack instead of picking up on the family business like he wanted you to. But you have to understand our point of view, we love him. So do you, somewhere. I don't want to think of you as... pretending he's not there when he is. He _is_ and he always _has_ been and that's better than nothing."

Race pulled away from her. "What if he doesn't want to talk to me?"

"What?"

He shrugged a tiny bit. "What if I go and all I find out is that he hates me, still doesn't want me in the family? What if he tells _Mom_ that..."

"Mom won't kick you out again."

"If he told her to--"

"No, Tony. _She_ knows he's not coming home, too, and she wants..." She sighed. "She wants Maria to have some sort of male role model and you're pretty much it now."

"Some role model. I'm a fucking coke head, I shouldn't be anywhere near Maria."

"Don't say things like that," she snapped. "You... You made mistakes, but hey, so did _Dad_. And I think if you two can both acknowledge that you might be able to... Forgive each other. A little."

"Yeah, _right_."

"You'll never know unless you try. I mean, Marco changed his whole world view and Mom threw Maurice out for you. So it's not like anything is impossible at this point."

"But it's not likely."

"But you have to try. Come on; you owe him that much just for the fact that he did try for all of us. Just show up once and if you never go see him again... Well, you'll never have to."

He didn't say anything again. But Izzy knew that meant she'd won, so she wasn't going to press it.

"Do you want me to help you look for your drumsticks?"

"No, your touch will contaminate all the good luck."

Obviously, Race was going to be very difficult in the next couple of days.

* * *

F: Well, we're nearing the end.  
B: Really really nearing the end. As in "one more chapter left" nearing the end. And we're not lying this time, the way we were about Spot dying.  
F: AHAHAHAHHAAA!  
B: Don't mind her, she just graduated from high school. She's a bit... jubilant.  
F: I NEVER HAVE TO GO -BACK-!  
B: As opposed to me after college. "They won't let me go back!" ...Anyhoo. Yep. Onnnne more chapter.  
F: I'm getting sad about this.  
B: Me too. But on the other hand it's pretty exciting. This story will be just about two years old when we finish it, and 500 pages. That's a lot of time and effort. tear  
F: And love. SHIT loads of love.  
B: And now we're waxing sappy, so anyway. We hope you enjoyed the penultimate chapter as much as I enjoy using the word penultimate. And that's a lot.  
F: By gum that's a good word...  
B: Celebrated with Popcorn, because guess who works in a movie theater?  
F: Guess who's actually eating some...


	26. A Side Wins

Everything You've Done Wrong 

Do your time to pay the price

For every thing you've done wrong, baby

In your life, you get so high

There's nowhere left to go but down

Don't believe that no one cares

'Cause we're here waiting for you, baby

Do your time

And then come home for good

So don't hide yourself away

Let it shine, let it shine

Don't hide yourself away

Let it shine

If you ever feel in doubt

You have a place in my heart, baby

If I ever feel left out

I know I've got a place in yours

Don't believe that I wouldn't dare

To go and take you right back, baby

Do your time

And then come home for good

-Sloan, _Everything You've Done Wrong_

Chapter 26: A Side Wins 

The next band practice had the whole gang. And it started out very awkwardly indeed. For one thing, Race's first words had been, "I'm busy Sunday morning until two-thirty," which had set Blink off into a whirling spiral of massive destruction. Mush was still calming him down, but at least Blink was trying to hold back, since Race had a perfectly legitimate reason to be gone for awhile. Blink wasn't happy about it, but (with some help from Mush), could deal.

Spot was leering at David and Jack, who were acting very _oddly_ around each other. Dutchy was practically on Cloud Nine, and Itey was whistling to himself, somewhere around Cloud Ten or Eleven.

It was big, diverse wave of emotions all gathered in the garage.

"So this is it," Blink finally said. "Our last rehearsal before our first gig." He sat down on the couch. "It's like losing my virginity again or something."

Something about Blink's couch and virginity... Race glanced over at Spot, caught his eye, and they both started snickering.

"What?" Blink demanded testily, still vaguely annoyed at Race.

"Nooooothing," Spot sang. "We'll tell you later."

"No, I know this is stupid and all, but I feel like... It's really important. We've got a real show tomorrow and even though _someone_ is not making that his priority--"

"Oh for the love of Christ, Blink," Jack snapped. "Leave it alone; it ain't like it was his idea. Deal with it."

David positively _beamed_ at Jack and threw an arm around his shoulder in an odd, not quite brotherly fashion.

"_Anyway_, what I'm saying is... This is big. It's like... Huge. We're really gonna do it. We're _ready_." He paused. "Wait, hang on, no we're fucking not. Let's rehearse."

He stood back up.

"Okay," Dutchy said to no one in particular, "I call Blink doesn't get to do any more big emotional speeches. That _sucked_."

"You think you can do better?" Blink challenged.

"Sure." Dutchy nodded, then cleared his throat and said, "Uhhhh." Blink rolled his eye, but Dutchy continued. "I've, uh, gone through some serious shit lately. And I'd kind of be... Well, dead, probably, if it wasn't for you guys. You saved my life. And it's stupid but I like it way better now that we've got this band really going and I feel like I'm not just some loser sitting around an empty house with my dog and no one who cares. So... Thanks. Let's rock."

It took a moment to absorb that, because it was the most Dutchy had said at any one time in months. And it was heavy stuff. And finally, Itey set down his bass and gave Dutchy a huge hug, and Dutchy hugged him back in a very brotherly way, and blushed a little.

"Dutchy wins," Spot proclaimed. "Yay. Now rehearse or don't complain when you fuck up tomorrow."

"Don't jinx us!" Blink snapped at Spot. Spot grinned.

"I sure did jinx your couch."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Play away."

Blink gave Spot a few more suspicious looks as he cleared his throat and gave Itey a snarky stare when he heard the slightly out of tune A string. "Fix th-"

"I _am_, Pirate Captain Blink Pyscho," Itey snapped. Race laughed.

"Good burn!"

"Try, bad burn," Blink snapped. "Hurry it up."

"Guys?" Dutchy asked. "Guys, do you think if we work hard enough at this, we could...I dunno, take it anywhere? It's kind of the only thing I'm good at, I'm so failing high school."

"_Yes_, Dutchy. I'm the next Bon Jovi," Blink snapped. "_Practice_. Thank you!"

"Jesus, your boy is bitchy today," Dutchy whined at Mush.

"But he's hot," Mush answered cheerfully.

"Thank you, hon. But not right now. And Dutch? Yeah, you don't get to complain to _me_ about failing. At least 'unconscious from crack OD' is a pretty valid excuse. 'Just didn't feel like it' doesn't fly so well with teachers."

"Here, here." Spot raised his beer, because of _course_ the hangers on who were sitting around the garage were drinking. They always did.

"Blinkee..." Mush said disapprovingly. "You need to--"

"Later," Blink whined, more to avoid the lecture than to get the rehearsal started. "So we're opening with Beetlebum since it doesn't entirely suck; let's rehearse that."

"Good call, fearless leader," Dutchy answered.

"Shut _up_, Dutchy."

"You're just mad 'cause his speech was better."

"Shut _up_, Davey."

"Don't tell Davey to shut up!"

"_Shut up, Jack_! Shut up _everyone_! Aaaaaaugh!"

And the rest of the people in the garage exchanged amused looks. Giving Blink a nervous break down was surprisingly fun.

* * *

Sitting in a restaurant later that night, Dutchy couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a real restaurant, not just some fast food place with the guys. It wasn't like they were inclined to eat out much, and since Dutchy didn't really date, and he'd never really done the mother-son bonding thing with his mom, and he wasn't one for going out alone, it had been quite awhile. But he'd remembered to dress nicely.

Jess had noticed. She said she liked his shirt.

He liked her dress. It was green and had silver sparkles that made up little flowers and she looked stunning. And he'd only tripped over the words a little when he'd told her so.

"So, I mean it's an awfully rude question but I've been dying of curiosity. How did you... Get started?"

He blinked. "Get started at what?"

"_You_ know..."

Oh, that. He thought she'd meant playing guitar. That would have been nice... He sighed. "It was stupid. I was... Like, pathetic and single, Bruce had just broken up with me and I was too depressed to do anything and just felt lonely and hated my life and... Yeah."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so _finally_ Jack got sick of me moping around, dragged me to some jock's party and there was this guy who offered to show me a good time. I figured he meant random hook up, and was more than happy to..." He trailed off. "Yeah, anyway. He gave me the first one free and the stuff is really, _really_ hard to stop once you start and..." He shrugged. "It was in December or something. Can't believe it took me so long to totally fuck myself over with it."

"Wow."

"Uh... Yeah, so that's about it. Behind me now. I hope. Things are better now, anyway."

He reached across the table and caught her hand, looked into her eyes. She smiled back at him. Yeah. Things were _definitely_ better now.

* * *

Race sat in the back of the car and felt sick. Not because of carsickness, he never got carsick. He just felt kind of like he was going to throw up, if not from the craving, then from nerves. He was popping Skittles like nobody's business, while Izzy drove--his mother hated driving distances--and his mother was in the passenger's seat; Maria had the middle belt in the back and Sophia sat on the other side.

All he could feel was dread in the bottom of his stomach. "Izzy, pull over," he said abruptly.

"What, Tony, I--"

"I'm going to puke."

So she pulled over, he got out of the car, and threw up in the bushes; then wiped his mouth and got back in. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Tony..." his mother said softly.

"It's fine." He threw on a cheerful but utterly fake smile. "I feel better now, really, just a little carsick."

If only they didn't _know_ that he never got carsick...

* * *

_Sophia had never snuck out of the house before, and she was kind of amazed by how easy it was when she started._

_Then it turned out that really, her sisters knew, and her mother probably did too, but maybe they were cutting her slack just this once because..._

_Well, they knew what Sophia was like when she was upset. Dramatic, but secretive. High maintenance, but silent._

_But right now, in this moment with Itey, where neither one of them had done anything but interlock hands and stare at each other's faces, and hands, and hair...just sitting on the couch in Itey's basement, staring at the other._

_She was _really_ glad Itey's basement had it's own door..._

_Itey smiled a little. "Sophie?"_

_"Mmm..?" she mumbled._

_"I have to...tell you, uh...something."_

_She nodded her head, leaning her forehead against his. "Yeah?"_

_But he was silent, and then just said, "Never mind."_

* * *

Maria turned on the younger card, acting like she was ten instead of almost thirteen. She looked excited and childish and she was almost pretending that her father was off on a trip and they were picking him up from the airport. No one had the heart to tell her to stop dreaming, that it would only make the reality harder to cope with.

Izzy was anal, and harsh, and very much like a mother; while Mrs. Higgins was silent and cooing.

Race just ate at his Skittles, and Sophia stared wordlessly out the window with a blank expression on her face.

He hated what this was doing to the family.

They all knew that too.

* * *

_Mush's house was nice. For all Blink's was the usual gathering spot, Blink did have to admit that Mush's house was just, well... Classy. And it seemed like Mush's family had almost gotten used to his existence, after it had been…Two months? God, he couldn't believe they'd only been together two months. It felt like a lifetime. But in a good way, like they'd always known each other and just hadn't actually met until David introduced them._

_Meeting Mush had been like finding a missing part of himself. It was corny, but it was really how Blink felt. So even though Mush's family was far from thrilled with their relationship, he didn't mind._

_They were lounging on a couch in the living room together, trying to relax. But relaxing was hard lately._

_But Mush's idea of relaxing Blink was to give him a nice massage, and there was no way they'd be able to be so physical with each other without... Well, getting _physical_ with each other. Not that Blink was complaining._

_If only Mush's sister wasn't home..._

_"Ooooow, you hit a knot, Mush. Not so hard."_

_"Don't whine," Mush scolded. "I have to press hard; that's how you get knots out."_

_"You're too strong."_

_"You like it."_

_"I really, really do." Blink glanced over his shoulder at Mush, who was smiling at him. And Mush did start to rub a bit more gently. "Mushee?"_

_"Hmmm?"_

_"I really love you."_

_"I love you too."_

_It wasn't until almost an hour later that Blink realized they'd never said that before. But then... It wasn't like they'd _had_ to say it. It was just one of those unspoken things that they both knew. But still, when Mush whispered it in his ear as he drifted off to the sound of the movie they were watching, it was nice to hear._

* * *

"Well, we're here." Izzy pulled into a parking spot. The traffic getting into the city had been awful, and Race _still_ felt like he needed to throw up. But Maria was hyper and giddy. Sophia seemed quiet and depressed. But his mother and Izzy were both worried.

He wondered if they were worried about _him_.

Mrs. Higgins ushered them all inside the building, which was huge and had three sets of doors, all of which sealed behind them, and two separate metal detectors and weapons checks. This was truly, truly _creepy_.

It really drove home the fact that Race's dad was in jail, and was going to stay there. Because here they were, visiting him. It all suddenly seemed so frighteningly real that Race...

Well, he wanted to vomit.

But he'd already done that once, and was kind of too intimidated by the whole prison atmosphere to move at all, let alone go find a men's room. But Izzy nudged him forward and he really wished he could cling to her the way Maria was clinging to their mother. But no. He was a seventeen year old, and he had to show the world that he was an adult.

He had to show his father that.

Well, he still had two bags of Skittles left; good thing he'd thought to bring a whole bunch with him.

* * *

_Despite how well things were going, David had to admit, it was awkward._

_Not because of him, or even because of what they had revealed to each other. It was because Jack was over at his house, hanging in the basement with him and Sarah and Les, watching movies, and Jack was just _such_ a horrible actor._

_"You're acting weird," Sarah considered. "Like a big idiot. Did you do something wrong?"_

_David wanted to applaud his sister, really. Instead, he just sunk down off the couch and next to his little brother, who was watching intently. Les _idolized_ Jack._

_"Nope," Jack coughed, his voice slightly breaking. "Nothing at all."_

_"You cheated on me again, didn't you?"_

_"Uh...no, I actually didn't."_

_"Then what is it?"_

_Jack glanced down at David, who was looking at him from the corner of his eye. "I... just, you know. Guy stuff. I'm fine. Great, actually. C'mere, girl." And Jack slipped his arm around Sarah and they cuddled._

_Still, David felt Jack's knee pressed against his back all night. In a romantic, straight, completely unaroused fashion._

* * *

When Mrs. Higgins came back, she was shaken up, her eyes were red, and she let Race and Izzy sit her down, helping her along the way, holding her hands.

Maria insisted on going next. She was so excited, and yet, Race could tell her eagerness was dying down. She was realizing where she was, what was going on. Still, Maria didn't like being sad. So she simply smiled and turned on her heel and walked bravely down the hall with two police officers at her side, watching her small frame protectively.

Izzy remained harsh, Sophia remained half-dead, Mrs. Higgins was still jittery, and Race was almost done with his last bag of Skittles.

When Maria came back from her visit, clearly a bit shaken and teary, she was still... happy, in a subdued way. She didn't talk about it; no one really had said anything since they'd arrived. But Race sort of understood. She was scared by the sight of her Dad in prison clothes, behind a glass screen where he couldn't touch her; but at the same time, Race was certain that his father had promised Maria that he loved her, and always would, no matter what.

Sophia was much harder to read when she got back. She was still quiet and she looked exhausted, like the conversation had almost taken more out of her than she could give. She put her hand on Race's for just a second, then announced she needed fresh air and was going to go out to the car. Which really meant she wanted to be alone to think, or possibly to call Itey and have him comfort her.

Izzy raised an eyebrow at Race and he shook his head, so she went first. Her conversation was longer and she came back sort of dazed and sort of angry. Race couldn't even begin to guess why. Anger that everything was out of control, anger at their father, anger at the world? It could really be anything.

But there was no putting it off anymore.

So he walked with the two policemen into a creepy, cement walled room with a glass barrier down the middle, sat down at the table in front of the barrier, and faced his father on the other side. There was a speaker that allowed them to hear each other clearly.

It was a good minute and a half before either of them spoke.

"I was surprised to hear you came," Paulo finally said.

"It wasn't my idea."

Paulo nodded a little.

It was so creepy, just _seeing_ him. He was wearing an awful orange prison jumpsuit, and it was the first time Race could ever remember him wearing something not totally tailored to fit. He looked tired, his hair was grayer than Race remembered, and his face was expressionless.

"Let's not beat around the bush, Anthony. Your... _lifestyle_..." He shook his head. "It's wrong."

"Yeah; well I'm not a huge fan of yours _either_."

"It's a sin."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure God said something else, too. Something about 'thou shalt not _kill_.'"

Paulo looked over at one of the cement walls. Race looked down at his hands. It was a full minute before either of them could speak again.

"But for all I disapprove, you are still my son."

Race's head snapped up. He wasn't sure if he heard correctly. Wasn't sure if he was delirious or still feeling dizzy.

When the comment did register, Race found himself more angry than before.

"Fine time to tell me," Race said in a low voice. "_Dad_."

Paulo sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, moving onto run his hands through his hair. "Anthony, I can't change what I believe. What you do--"

"Yeah, well, that's not even all of it. Are you telling me everything I did was wrong? Everything was a sin, _that's_ why you always treated me like a--"

"Like a _son_."

"Like a _punching bag_."

"I looked out for you, Anthony."

"I never asked you to."

"Anthony--"

"Christ, if _that's_ your idea of looking out for me, I'm fucking glad you never hit me to teach me a _lesson_."

"Watch your language, young man."

Race's eyebrows shot up and he was talking without thinking. "Or else what, _Dad_? I think we're pretty much beyond the point where you can _threaten_ me, what with the glass wall and the _armed guards_ and all!"

He could hear the hysteria in his voice and knew he was in the same place he'd been in when he'd run out of class earlier in the week. Nervous breakdown mode, where anything at all was too much to handle. He stared around the room, sure the guards were going to freak out or intervene, but they just stood silently, looking anywhere but at Race and Paulo. Race had a fleeting, panic thought that they'd been paid off by the Mafia, but when his father began to speak, he forgot about it.

"But I am _still_ your father; I've always insisted on respect from my children."

"But you never gave it to _me_, not once in my entire _life_ did you ever--"

"It's somehow hard to respect a drug addict trying to run himself and everyone who cares for him into the ground, Anthony."

"Fuck you!" Race yelled. "This was a fucking mistake, I'm not going to sit here and--" He was already standing angrily as he was talking, but his father cut him off. Again. Damn him.

"You can leave now--I certainly can't stop you--but remember that I will always _be_ your father."

Race sat back down. "Some fucking father. I never even had a--a _chance_. I never in my life had a chance to be _normal_."

Paulo looked puzzled by the comment. As if it had been the last thing he expected to come out of his son's mouth.

"You know," Race continued, not really caring what he was saying, "it wouldn't be so bad if we were just a family who accepted me because I'm freaking homosexual--"

"It's--"

"You killed people, and that's worse!" Race snapped. "All I got from you was one fucking disaster after another. The house is better off without you, _we're_ better off without you, and we don't goddamned _need you_!"

Then Paulo Higgins's face fell. A little.

It was enough to throw Race off a bit, but not enough to make him apologize. He just stared on, not saying anything else.

Neither did Paulo, until finally, "So you think I'm a hypocrite."

"You _are_ a hypocrite."

Another silence. If Race hadn't inherited his damn stubborn streak from his father he'd just have left, but now that they were into it and his father couldn't slam him into a wall or pull a gun on him, he was determined to see it through.

Through to what, he had no idea.

"It was... It was never my intention to harm you."

Race snorted. "Yeah, right. Tell me another one, you're a real fuckin' comedian."

"It's the truth, Anthony, you must believe that. I have never in my life lied to you."

Race opened his mouth to respond that his dad was full of shit, then stopped abruptly.

His father had been less than forthcoming when he'd described his position in the Family, but had never truly lied about it. He was exactly as he said, a well respected hitman.

Race thought back, and it was like a slap in the face.

His father withheld information Race simply couldn't _have_, but he never lied. He even said, straight out, that when he didn't answer questions it was because of his business. No lies.

Race swallowed hard. "So if you don't lie to me, just answer one thing."

His father nodded at him to ask.

"Do you hate me now?"

It took his father a lot longer to answer than he'd have liked.

"No, Anthony. I disagree with you and I don't understand you, but I have never hated you. You're my _son_."

And really, Race knew what he was _supposed_ to say. He just...couldn't. Years of resentment and anger and almost flat out hatred...

He just couldn't say 'you're my _father_' after everything that had happened.

He couldn't.

Still... it was nice to hear his father say the words he had. Race lost some of his steam, sitting in his seat, staring at his father. Who looked and acted so much like him sometimes, Race would get so frustrated he could just shout and shout.

"'K," Race finally muttered.

Another silence passed between them, but it wasn't as awkward as the other ones were. Just...long, and expectant. Race was supposed to do something.

He wanted to yell some more.

But he couldn't do that either.

Finally, he mumbled, "Yeah, I suppose that's somewhere to start."

His father nodded. "I'm willing to make a start of it, if you are."

"Don't say that unless you mean it," Race answered.

"I wouldn't--"

"Dad, I'm in love with Sean. It's not a phase; it's not going to go away. I'm gay, and I always will be. So don't say you're willing to try and fix whatever the hell all of this between us is unless you can accept that."

"So long as you concede the difference between accepting a fact and liking a fact."

Race swallowed hard, and finally nodded. "I wish you could like it."

"I wish you were straight. But you are who you are and I am who I am; and I was wrong on Sunday."

Race _gaped_.

"You..."

"I was wrong." His father had his hands laced together in front of him. "I wasn't a father that night. I don't know if I've been much of a father to you for a very long time."

Race swallowed, and stared longingly at the door back to his mother and sisters. He wanted out now. He didn't want this confrontation anymore.

"And I apologize."

"Yeah," Race cleared his throat. "Yeah, okay."

"Do you accept my apology?"

"I don't know!" Race insisted. "I don't know anything, I just want to _go_, okay?"

"The conversation is not over, Anthony," Paulo said. "And it's a conversation that would mean a lot to me if it were finished. Please."

His father was asking him this on a calm, mature level. Like an equal, almost. And that meant a lot, too.

Race buried his head in one hand and mumbled down at the floor, "Okay."

"Okay...?" his father repeated.

Race shrugged a little, not looking up. "I'm not leaving, am I?"

"I appreciate that more than you know. This is... Not the way I had hoped to have this conversation, but perhaps my presence here is for the best. As you said."

Race shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that. I never _wanted_ you to get arrested, or--"

"And yet that's what it took to force me to see clearly."

"So what do you see?"

For once his father was at a loss for words. Race knew how he felt, but wasn't going to let him off the hook. He finally looked up at his father's face and just waited.

It felt like a short eternity passed by before his father said, "I see that my priorities as a father were not what they should have been. And I see that I regret that."

"So you regret things then," Race sighed, his voice sounding old and tired. "Anyone can regret. It's not that hard to do."

"There's more to it then that. If I could take it back--"

"You would. Yeah, people say that too."

"I mean it."

He did, Race knew that, but he wanted to hear more than his father's regrets. He wanted to hear... He didn't know, but there was more to it than his father just saying he would take this back if he could.

"I've been a bad father, Racetrack," he said then. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"That depends on if you mean it or not."

"I never say things I don't mean."

Race shrugged. "Then yeah, that's what I want to hear."

But somehow, it didn't make him feel better. Because what he wanted was... He wanted a good father. But it was too late for that.

He studied his father's reaction, and for a change, Paulo didn't hide behind a blank mask. He was hurt that his son considered him a bad father, and more hurt that his son wanted him to say so aloud. But for both of them, it was time to stop pretending.

"You know I'm gonna... You know, be a witness," Race finally mumbled.

"Of course."

"You know I'm not gonna lie for you."

"I would never ask you to."

Race snorted. "Your lawyers sure would."

"They _won't_. I would never expect you to lie--I'd like to think I know you at least that well. Your morals are too important to you, Racetrack; I may not always understand them, but I do know that. I also know that's why..." He groped for words. It was almost scary for Race to see his father _not_ have a ready answer for everything. "I also know that is why you hated me; why you turned to drugs. I could never match your moral standards, only tried to force you to adhere to _mine_."

Race blinked.

How the hell could his father be so cruel and distant and assholeish and _still_ know that kind of thing?

"It's not like you were always so bad..." Race muttered quietly, almost not wanting his father to hear anything good that he thought about him. But words came when they wanted, and there was no real way to stop them sometimes. "You know, there were times when it felt like we were a family."

"You lie for me."

"I wouldn't lie for you, I just said," Race snapped. "I mean it, sometimes it was alright."

"Alright is not good enough a family. Isn't that what you were so angry about it?"

"Alright It's better then flat out shit."

"Which is what...your..." Paulo cleared his throat. "Sean." Race sighed. "If you must choose someone, why choose a boy who will never be happy?"

"What?"

"I know more about Sean's background than you do; I can assure you that he will never be a happy person. I worry that he'll cause _you_ to end up the same."

"Sean's not like that. You don't know him, he's not... He loves me."

"I believe that, and I doubt he would intentionally hurt you. No more than you would hurt him. But it's possible to still hurt--destroy--someone you love."

Race stared at him for a second.

That was the closest his father had come in _years_ to saying he loved his son. And anyone who didn't know Paulo very well would have missed that masked message.

Race wondered how he knew Paulo so well, when all they'd done was hate each other for years.

"I meant what I said," Race mumbled. "When I said that I'm not the way I am to spite you."

"I know."

"I never did anything just to spite you. Not really."

"I know that, too."

"Really?" Race's voice cracked.

"I know you very well, Racetrack." His father looked as if he was about to crack, too. But Paulo would never do that; he'd had years of pent up emotions inside of him, and if he let go he'd break.

Race didn't mind, though.

Not a lot.

"Thank… thank you," Race said, pushing the words out. "I mean, it... it doesn't make up for everything, but it's… nice to know."

"I said you were my son, and I'm your father, and nothing could change that. If I had died that day Paparelli took you away..." His father gained murderous look. "It would have been worth it. If you were safe."

Then a mask was back on his father's face and Race knew that was the farthest the conversation would go.

Race stared at the slightly cracked, very scuffed cement floor. "Do you...want me to come visit again?"

"It would mean a lot to me."

Race looked up at him. "Would you ever accept Sean as your son-in-law?"

"Have gay marriages been legalized since I've been gone?"

"Don't dodge the question, Dad. We're beyond that now. I thought."

His father took a deep breath. "I can't...I can't change everything I believe in such a short time, Racetrack."

Race's face fell.

But his father wasn't done talking yet.

"But the fact remains that you _are_ my son and you... are gay. And that means part of being your father is trying to understand and trying to change. Just please know it'll take _time_."

"But someday?" Race asked, his voice almost pleading. And he didn't care if that was pathetic, to desperately want the approval of a man who he hated, a criminal who would likely spend the rest of his life in jail.

His father nodded a tiny bit, really just inclined his head. "You're my son. The most important thing is that you are safe, and happy. I can see that far, at least."

Race smiled, he could feel it. Actually kind of smiled. Not a beam, or even a big toothy grin. Just a small smile. And his father sort of smiled back.

Race leaned back in his chair. "I have a gig tonight."

"Gig?"

"Concert...you know, the band?"

"Yes. Gig."

Race grinned a little again. "Yeah...it's uh, kind of a big thing. We're excited."

"Gabriel is in the band, correct?"

"Uh?" Race nodded. "Yeah..."

"Is he..."

"He's great."

Paulo nodded. There was a silence until Paulo cleared his throat. "You will... do well, I'm sure."

"We're gonna try." He bit his lip. "We kind of rock when we get it right."

"I'd assume so. I _have_ heard you play through the past few years."

"I thought you hated my playing?"

"I may not enjoy your chosen instrument, but that's got nothing to do with how talented you are." He said it with a distinctly fatherly pride.

Race ducked his head a little, oddly embarrassed. "Thanks, Dad."

"It's only the truth."

"Yeah, but it... It means a lot to me now." He bit his lip. "I need to go so we can set up."

His father nodded. "But you _will_ come again?"

Race noted a slight hint of desperation in his father's voice, which was yet another shock. But he was almost getting used to being shocked now.

But then, like Marco had said, Race needed his father's approval; Paulo needed the same from his son.

"Yeah, I'll... I'll come again when I can."

"Thank you."

Race hesitantly stood to leave, wishing he could do something. A hug would have just seemed _wrong_, but somehow this felt like the part where they should have shaken hands. But that was impossible.

However, his father did add, "Racetrack... Tony. You don't need to worry about the Family any more; they won't be bothering you again."

Race nodded.

"And they won't be bothering Sean, either; Maurice and I spoke about that. Please give Sean my sincerest apologies."

Race's eyes widened a little bit, and he nodded again.

"Break a leg, Anthony. If that's the correct phrase."

"It's pretty good." Race looked around the room hesitantly. "Uh... Good luck, I... guess."

"I'll see you when you visit."

"Yeah. Uh... G'bye, Dad."

"Good bye, Anthony."

And Race was escorted back out of the room.

* * *

"How did it go?" Spot asked softly, his hand at the small of Race's back as they all pitched in to get Race's drumset out of the van. Race glanced at him as he shifted his grip on the snare.

"Not...bad. At all."

"Was he a huge dick?"

"No. Not at all." Race gulped. "He's...not a dick, actually."

An odd silence passed between them as Jack and David walked by carrying the bass drum, Jack whining the whole way.

"He says sorry, by the way."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"He says sorry. About the kidnapping and the being beat up and all that shit. He says sorry."

Spot snorted. "Like he _meant_ it."

"He did!" Race snapped. "Yeah, okay, he did."

Spot gave him a weird look. "If you say so."

"Listen." Race lowered his voice to a hiss. "We're both off the hook. Totally."

"Like..."

"No more people listening in or following us around. No one threatening you. Ever."

"Great."

"Spot, come on. Please... Can't you be happy just for me?"

"Are _you_ happy?"

Race nodded. "He doesn't hate me. He _apologized_. He's never done that before."

"Great. I'm happy for you, then. Really." Spot grabbed the snare from Race and walked off to towards the club, and Race just kept remembering what his father had said about Spot being an unhappy person...

"Hey, you ok?"

Mush was leaning against the van, looking on with concern. "You seemed kinda dazed when you got to Blink's house."

"I'm okay… Well, going to be okay," Race answered, smiling at Mush. "Still, though. Thanks for asking."

"You're so much less of a dick now, Tony-baby," Mush said, and wrapped his arms around Race in a protective hug. "I love you both ways."

Race grinned and blushed a little. "Thanks."

"Hands off my boy." Blink smacked Race's back. "And hurry up, I wanna scope the competition."

Race flipped him off and Mush stuck his tongue out. "Be nice to Tony, he's had a long morning."

"I'm sorry, Tony, hurry up," Blink nodded his head. "I'm going to explode!" And he kind of grinned crazily.

Mush winced. "Oh dear."

Race patted his back. "Go take care of that, huh? I'm fine."

"Really fine?"

"I'm more fine than I've been in... Like, awhile."

"Good!" Mush grinned, and hurried after Blink.

Now if only Race could figure out Spot, things would be perfect. So he grabbed the rest of his drum set, which had already largely been disassembled and moved, and headed in after Spot, who was standing inside, waiting.

"So," Race said. "You ok?"

"I'm thrilled."

"Spot--"

"The guy held a gun to my head--_twice_--and it's real nice that he's sorry and you believe that and all, but I don't think it's wrong for me to be kind of skeptical."

"I know, but..." Race said weakly.

"Know, nothing," Spot snapped. "Your relationship with your dad is none of my business."

Race stared. "Hey, if you love me so much, then it is!"

Spot snorted. "Don't try and pull that shit. You're being fucking womanly."

"_You're_ the moody one!"

"My _point_ is," Spot broke in, "I don't want to see your dad any more than he wants to see me. Yay, you're happy, that's all that matters."

"What about you?"

"Nothing about me."

"Everything is," Race mumbled, leaning closer to him, but Spot was blocking himself off at the moment.

"No. It's not, okay? And I'm fine that way. So you stay happy and I'm fine."

"Spot--"

"Tony, just let it go. It's not a big deal. I'm happy for you." Spot reached for Race's hand. "Really."

"I wish you were happy... Just because you were happy."

"I am. When I'm with you, and you're happy."

Somehow, that seemed a little bit... codependent. But on the other hand, Race realized that the reason he was so upset was because Spot was upset, and wasn't that really the same thing?

He wrapped his arms around Spot, who looked a little uncomfortable, then relaxed into it, and kissed Race gently. "Okay?" Spot asked.

"Okay."

"Good. Now let's go scope the other bands; I hear there's a fuckin' hot guitarist somewhere."

Race rolled his eyes, but smiled and let Spot go. "Spot?"

"Oh for the love of... _what_?"

"You make me happy, too."

"Damn right I do." Spot smirked.

Spot only smirked like that when he was at least vaguely happy.

And that meant things were actually okay, for the first time in a long time.

With his arm snaked protectively around Spot's waste, they made their way inside, to see that Race's drumset was miserably scattered around the greenroom. Itey and Dutchy were looking at it with guilt, and quickly jumped to different parts of the room, whistling innocently when Race and Spot came in.

Race whimpered, staring at the mess. "_What_ did you guys _do_ to my _drumset_!"

"Dutchy started it," Itey said before Dutchy could.

"God..." Race sighed. "Nobody touch anything, I'll have it ready to go...Jesus, that tom is in bad enough shape as it IS..."

No one really know what he was saying now, and Blink was so completely insane that they were trying to focus on anything BUT the band and the instruments. Despite the fact they were playing soon.

"Are we going up soon?" Race asked.

"Jack's scoping the others," Dutchy said. "So he should know when we start. We're not first though."

"I wanna see the other drummers," Race said. Dutchy gave him a wink.

"I'm sure they're not even a quarter as good as you."

Itey let out a cough that sounded a lot like 'JESSICA'.

"Way to be a spoil sport," Dutchy pouted.

"Way to be a whore," Itey shot back.

Dutchy grinned. "It's so true."

"Yeah?"

"Dude, how do you _think_ I was able to support my cocaine habit for four months?"

Itey winced. "Please tell me that's a joke."

"Nah. I used grocery money."

"Then what did you buy groceries with?"

"I didn't."

"Then what did you _eat_?"

"I _didn't_. No appetite."

"That's not healthy."

"Itey, I was on _cocaine._ And you're saying that skipping a few _meals_ was unhealthy?"

"Okay, that's enough drug talk!" Jack declared, walking back in to the room, David on his heels. "So yeah, the band doing soundcheck now kind of blows, missed the first one, and the guys on right before you are pretty good. And their singer is hot."

David rolled his eyes. But nodded. And commented, "Anyway, the guy in charge says you get ten minutes between their set and yours to set up and do soundcheck, and to chill in here beforehand. Some other bands might wander in and out."

"Hot singer!" Dutchy flounced over to Jack. "Does she play an instrument?"

"She twiddles at the bass." Jack said.

Itey raised his head. "Any good?"

Jack shrugged. "She should twiddle my--"

"Jaaacckk," David whined.

"Oh, oh, look at that," Mush said. "Davey is jeea--"

Mush was cut off because Race had finally got his drumset all together and ready to go, and proceeded to play a long, extremely enthusiastic drum fill. Everyone kind of shut up and stared at him, partially because it was so loud, and partially because it was so good. He smirked.

"Band meeting, please!" Blink announced, clapping his hands together.

"Who crowned you leader?" Jack asked.

"What do you care, you're not in the band," Blink answered, and stuck out his tongue. Then he looked at Mush, and stuck his tongue out again, in a much dirtier fashion. Mush grinned back at him.

"Hey, that's my thing," Spot muttered, elbowing Mush.

"Yeah, but my boyfriend is hotter than your boyfriend."

Spot snorted and didn't say anything. Mush pouted, and the band gathered up around the drum set.

Blink took a deep breath. "We are extremely lucky to have this, we're good enough to rock, and we will," he said. "And I know we've worked really hard on our set, but I think we can add an extra song to the list."

The three other band members stared. "What?" Itey finally asked.

"I dunno. I just... Everything You've Done Wrong. By Sloan. It just seems…" He trailed off.

Itey cocked his head a little. "I like that song."

"We've never practiced it," Dutchy pointed out.

"Come on, it's a sweet song about... love and forgiveness and... I don't know. It just fits," Itey said. "And I think we all know it well enough to pull it off, if we run through it once or twice before we go on."

Dutchy shrugged, and Blink nodded, and they all turned to Race.

"Fine," Race agreed hesitantly. "If we can go through it now."

Blink nodded, and Itey nodded, and they glanced at Dutchy.

"What the hell?" Dutchy said, shrugging.

Blink shoved him in a kind of brotherly way, and Dutchy shoved back, and Race glanced at Itey and raised his eyebrows.

"They're just _lovely_," Itey said in a monotone voice, and Race laughed.

"Soooo…" Blink looked at Race. "Are you okay?"

Race blinked. "What?"

"You okay? Are you sure you can do this, like..." Blink turned to Itey. "Iteeeyy..."

"He means are you doing all right? All right enough to play for us, or are we rushing you?"

Race had to smile. It was nice to have friends, real friends. And they were. They really, truly were.

"I'll be fine. Playing, being up there..." Race fingered one of his drumsticks. "You know, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing."

"Except Spot," Blink supplied.

"Exactly." Race patted his back. "Except Spot."

"We kind of expected you to come home in nervous breakdown mode or something," Itey added. "Especially after Sophia called me, she was really upset. So... I mean, if you don't want to--"

"I do."

"You sure?"

"_Yes_, I'm _sure_. I don't know what happened with Sophie, she didn't want to talk about it." He didn't even freak out that she told Itey things she didn't tell him. He liked Itey. "But Dad and I talked and it was kinda... Good. I mean, hard and painful and all that shit, but really I feel better than I have in a long time."

"Yeah?"

"Hey, its the first time in two years I've been at all sure my dad doesn't hate me. That's a pretty good feeling. Especially considering last Sunday." He shrugged. "So I'm okay. Let's _rock_."

Itey grinned and began to play the riff from "Rock the Casbah" as they waited for Dutchy to finish tuning. Which was taking awhile, because he was kind of distracted and hyper.

So Race threw his drumstick at Dutchy, and grinned, and they got ready to rock.

A few moments into mild practicing, the door burst open and Sophie and Jessica rushed in, together, which caused quite a few male eyes to look up with interest indeed.

Sophia squealed when she saw Itey, and ran over and gave him a long kiss on the mouth. Jess, however, walked very coolly and confidently over to Dutchy, who hadn't noticed because his guitar had gone flat again.

She tapped his shoulder, and when he turned around he stared. "Heeeey," he finally said.

Jess raised her eyebrow.

"You look hot," he said.

"It's true," she tapped his chest. "Good luck."

"No kiss?"

Jessica grinned playfully. "I should kiss a boy whose guitar is flat?"

"Yeah," Dutchy said, and kissed her, then went back to tuning. She rolled her eyes, and settled back to watch.

"Soooo, uh, we've got... Like, forty minutes to kill." Race sat back on the couch and Spot sat down on top of him. He grinned. "What do you want to do?"

"You."

Spot proceeded to kiss Race.

Sophia made a very loud retching noise and Spot flipped her off. So she responded by shoving Itey against a wall and kissing _him_ and everyone else exchanged looks and waited for Race to freak out, but Race was a little too busy with Spot.

Mush and Blink glanced at each other.

"We'll be in the men's room." Mush grabbed Blink's wrist and dragged him out of the room.

Dutchy glanced sheepishly at Jess. She smiled at him, almost shyly, and he took her hand. Then he kissed her, kind of sweetly.

Jack and David exchanged looks and sighed. "You know how much easier life would be if we just..."

"_Tell_ me about it."

Then they shrugged, and grinned, and sat down next to each other against a wall and tried to ignore all of the gratuitous couples around them.

* * *

Itey was thumbing the G-string of his bass over and over, and the crowd was so huge that Race was astonished that people actually could hear and watch him do it.

Blink was now pretty much insane as he rushed about back and forth, snapping at Dutchy to stop licking his lips at Jessica back stage. Jessica seemed quite happy with how much Dutchy had come out of his shell, really.

"Blink!" Race poked Blink in the side with his drumstick. "This is the part where you stop acting like a woman!"

"I am _not_ a woman!"

"Are," Itey finished strumming. "Blinkee, this sound off to you?" He strummed a string. Blink considered.

"Flat."

"Damned thing's been going flat all night," Itey mumbled, re-adjusting the string.

Dutchy quickly played a speedy, quick, quiet version of The Lemon Song guitar riff, and grinned at his band members. "And are we ready?"

Blink took a few panicked breaths. "Oh my GOD we're actually going to play and I can't believe this! We're actually on stage and there's an AUDIENCE and we're gonna--"

"Blink, CHILL," Itey interrupted. "We're gonna rock." He frowned and went back to trying to tune.

"What if we SUCK? Aaaaaugh, someone get my mind off it."

"How?" Dutchy demanded. "Dude, still flat."

"I _know_..."

"I don't know! Do anything! I'm freaking out I need air oh my gooooooooooood."

Race considered, as Blink picked up the water bottle he'd set for himself and took a long drink. Then Race commented, "I lost my virginity on your couch last weekend."

At the same moment that Itey was ready and motioned for the lights to go up.

Blink did not react well.

The first thing any audience ever saw of Money City Maniacs was Ryan Ballatt doing a full on spit take, then jerking around to face the watchers abruptly, looking terrified and totally lost for what to do.

But Race wasn't quite so lost, and from his position at the drumset in the back counted in to Beetlebum. And they'd played the song so many times that Itey and Dutchy kicked in naturally, and there were a few measures before Blink had to sing so he got it under control.

And then God must have smiled at them, because the music meshed.

Race pounded at the drums, feeling it. Really, really feeling it, and loving it more than anything. Knowing he sounded good, that they all sounded good.

No.

Almost great.

Itey was ON bass tonight, letting go of his shell.

Dutchy, god bless him, didn't speed up once. He stayed on time and perfect and marvelous.

Blink was the sexiest bitch in the whole damned room.

And Race played. Knowing things would be just fine. Spot was backstage, watching, and listening, and loving him. He'd be there waiting when Race was done playing. And Race's sisters still loved him. They were there, too, watching. His mother still loved him. She'd be home, waiting, when he got there. And his father was still back in prison...

Still his father.

Race pounded, the light shone, and he loved his father. Despite everything he'd done wrong.

_Do your time, and then come home for good._

* * *

F: Holy fuck...THE END.

B: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I mean (sniff) no, I'm not crying.

F: I'm kind of crying right now, actually.

B: What can we even say? This story became a borderline obsession for both of us and now it's overrrrrrrrrrr. Waaaaaah.

F: We had all sorts of things we wanted to do with this storyline. Like, all sorts of ways we wanted to go with the story. But it doesn't look like we can go that way

B: There are so many stories left to tell with this characters. Paulo's trial isn't easy on anyone. People go off to college. The band gets a record deal. Everyone grows up. Not to mention the story of how Spot first moved in to Jack's house and how he became the boy we know and love. The characters are always in the back of our minds. And there's nothing we'd like more than to spend another two years spinning those stories. Except real life has a bad habit of disrupting plans.

F: Pretty much, we realized, that we're both at such different points in our lives, and we can't give the story the work it deserves considering where we are and what we're up to.

B: We've both grown up so much while writing this story. I graduated from college and Funkie started it. Our lives are both kind of crazy right now, and we'd like to think that some day when they calm down we can come back to these characters... but who knows what the future holds? For now, we're just proud of the 500+ pages, and 2+ years of work that's gone into this story. And we're grateful that other people have enjoyed it.

F: The Newsies fandom was such a cool part of my high school life, and no one except for fellow Newsies fans can really understand why. EYDW was so amazing to write, and from now on, whenever I watch the movies, a little part of me will be like, "Aawww, Dutchy's on coke."

B: Well, I was in college, but it helped me learn a lot about myself as a writer, which sounds corny, but... hey, I'm corny. Would you look at that?

F: We're both corny. We're both very corny. And we love these characters very much and they love each other very much. In the end, B and I will always have eydw, and so will all of you.

(And as a warning, if you want to read these a couple of years in the future, and low and behold, something has happened to all the websites that host it, save it now on your computer or something. A fic I wanna read by this great writer is gone now, and I'm kicking myself. I'm not sure any of you will wanna read this THAT much, but just in case.)

B: In the mean time... I guess that's about it. There are a few people we need to thank especially: Hilary (even though she disappeared - we miss you, hon), Charlie Bird, and _especially_ The Second Batgirl, our awesome beta reader. Also thanks to everyone who's reviewed this monstrosity, from Hotshot and Rumor (who hit just about every chapter from the beginning... wow) to people who just jumped in recently or for a chapter or two. We really appreciate all of your feedback and are glad you liked what you read.

Thanks from the bottom of our hearts, and, um, stay in touch? Be well? I'm going to get corny again, aren't I... Ah, well.

F: We love you, and so do the EYDW boys and girls.

Celebrated with Chinese food, with cake and champagne for desert.


End file.
